CAME A SHADOW (The Shadow Trilogy Book 1) Page 5

  Callie looked at her deputy. "Ralph, would you bring in Jarvis as soon as we’re through here?"

  Torrens nodded.

  Callie looked to Deputy Oakley. “Officer Oakley has been coordinating the effort to contact all known felons in the area, Jack. Davis, would you fill us in on your progress?"

  Oakley's appearance was the exact opposite of Torrens'. He was in his late forties and bone-thin, with whiskers so dark he looked in need of a shave already, although it was still only 8:30 in the morning. "Well, there are a number of known sexual offenders living in the area,” he reported, “but, as of late last night, we've verified alibis on all of them. Of the rest - non-sexual offenders that is - we've pretty well cleared all but two possibles." Oakley flipped a few pages in his notebook and then resumed. "A Charles Penman, age thirty-two did time in Dallas for armed robbery. He's lived with his sister in Colville since his release in '79. Since he's been here he's kept his nose clean. Works as a mechanic at a local garage. Claims he was doing an engine rebuild on the afternoon in question but he tells us there was nobody around to confirm it for him.

  "Then there’s Aaron James Brooker - goes by A.J. - age forty-four, a Vietnam vet … did four years for aggravated assault in Minnesota in the early seventies. Brooker’s lived here for less than a year. He's unemployed, lives off his veteran's pension. Rents a place a few miles east of the Crandall farm. Claims he was in town shopping all afternoon on December 20th but, so far, we haven’t been able to find anybody who remembers seeing him." Oakley looked pensive. "About this Brooker …he's a black guy, stands about six five and weighs in at around three hundred pounds. Looks meaner than a pit bull with a toothache. I'll tell you straight … if I owned a store and this guy walked in, I'd sure as hell remember him."

  While Oakley had been talking, Jack was jotting down notes in his own notebook. "The road blocks, ground search, and interviews conducted so far have all proven fruitless," he summarized. "Given the speed with which the roadblocks were set up I think it's reasonable to assume that whoever did this didn’t leave the area. Quite possibly - in fact, most likely - the perp is someone you know. The way I see it so far, the snowplow operator, Jarvis, has to rank pretty high on the suspect list. The mysterious fourth vehicle he mentioned seeing near the Crandall place could be something but I wouldn’t wanna bet the ranch on it. Penman sounds like a bit of a long shot to me but this Brooker guy is probably worth a good look. I don't have to tell you how critical time is. The more time goes by that we don’t come up with a real lead, the less likely we’ll ever cap this one. Unless anybody’s got something further to report, let's get at it."

  “I’ve got a few phone calls I have to make,” Callie said after the meeting broke up. “Shouldn’t take me more than fifteen minutes or so.”

  “Maybe I’ll grab some breakfast,” Jack said. “Meet me over at the diner when you’re through.”

  He walked the short distance to Mollie’s, took a booth by the window, and ordered a couple of poached eggs on toast, sides of bacon , hash brown potatoes, and coffee. The coffee arrived immediately and the rest soon after. He was delighted to see the eggs were done just right, medium hard, the way he had ordered them, and the bacon was crisp. The toast tasted like it was made from home-baked bread, and the coffee was as good as any he’d ever tasted. Even the hash browns were extraordinary. Spending as much time as he did living in hotels and motels, Jack had become something of an expert on eating out. Small town diners, he had learned, didn’t always live up to their reputations but this one, he thought happily, certainly did. He was about half done when he looked out the window and spotted Callie crossing the street in a hurry, heading in his direction.

  When she came through the door she didn’t take the time she normally would have devoted to stomping the snow from her boots before joining him at his booth.

  "We just got the computer read-out on Jarvis in," she said in a hushed voice.

  “Yeah?”

  "He did time in Arkansas twenty years ago. Guess what for."

  Jack looked up from his breakfast. "Tell me."

  "He was charged with sexual assault on a minor … the eleven-year-old daughter of his common-law wife at the time. Pleaded no contest and did two years."

  Before she was finished Jack had thrown some bills on the table and was on his feet. "You heard from Torrens?"

  "He just radioed in," she said under her breath. "He's got Jarvis with him now. He'll be here in ten minutes."

  Their arrival back at the office coincided with a call coming in from the County Sheriff’s department. Callie took it in her office. “Chief Henderson,” she said.

  Jack waited while Callie listened, the look on her face clearly registering interest. A moment later she said, “Thanks, Will, we’ll get right on it.” She turned to Jack after hanging up. “We need to get over to the county works yard.”

  “What’s up?”

  “That was Will Jamison, the County Sheriff. One of his men just radioed in that there’s something we need to see. He’s there’s now, waiting for us.”

  “Let’s go,” Jack said.

  Callie walked out to her receptionist, a short, dumpy woman with shockingly red hair and freckles so thick that, from a distance, she looked heavily tanned. “Ralph should be here in a few minutes with Henry Jarvis, Megan. Tell him to sit tight with him till we get back.”

  “I’ll tell ’im,” Megan answered.

  They took Callie’s cruiser and arrived at the works yard a few minutes later. A deputy sheriff was waiting for them beside a snowplow. Callie introduced him to Jack. “Bill Walker, Jack Parmenter.” The two men shook hands. “So what’s up, Bill?” Callie said.

  “Davis Oakley had a court appearance he had to attend today and asked me to stop by and have a look at the plow Jarvis was driving,” Walker said. “I spotted something right off but I wasn’t sure whether or not we had a search warrant yet so I checked in with Sheriff Jamison.” He told me not to do anything else till you got here.” Walker climbed up on the snowplow’s running board and opened the door to the cab. “Have a look,” he said. He jumped down to make room for Callie and Jack.

  They scrambled up and peered into the cab. Almost immediately they saw what Walker was referring to. Seven or eight strands of long blond hair clung to the back of the seat next to the driver’s position.

  Callie looked over at Jack and raised her eyebrows. “I’ll put in a call to Judge Wayfield,” she said quietly.

  CHAPTER 7

  Unshaven, with long, thin strands of unruly gray hair sticking out from under a sweat-stained ball cap, Henry Lee Jarvis was ushered in to what passed for an interrogation room at the Colville Police Station. Jarvis’ court appointed lawyer, who introduced himself as Ben Steiner, accompanied him. They took seats at a table across from Jack.

  Steiner, who was with a legal aid firm in Rumford, looked bored. Jack figured it was probably an effort to show his disdain for the ‘ridiculous’ charges being leveled against the bundle of nerves seated next to him.

  Callie and Ralph Torrens stood near the room's only door.

  Jack peered intently at Jarvis. The man looked as guilty as any suspect Jack had ever encountered; shifty eyes that darted around the room nervously, trembling hands, too fidgety to sit still for more than a few seconds at a time.

  If this guy isn’t our man, he’s giving a damn good imitation of him, Jack thought. He cleared his throat and addressed Jarvis "All right, Henry, let's cut to the chase here, shall we? Three eye witnesses place you near the Crandall farm very near the time of Sophie Crandall's disappearance. Forensic reports just received confirm hair strands found in the snowplow you were operating on the day of the girl’s disappearance match those of the Crandall girl. And surprise, surprise … you’re a convicted felon - served two years for sexual assault on a minor.” Parmenter put his hands palms down on the table in front of him and stared at Jarvis. “You could save us all a lot of time by coming clean right now. How about it?"

>   Jarvis sat motionless.

  "It’ll go better for you if you cooperate with us, Henry," Jack said, his tone hushed and genuine.

  Jarvis stared at his nicotine-stained fingers; several seconds went by. "I don't know nothin' about that kid," he said when he looked up. "I never saw her before in my life. And that’s the fuckin’ truth."

  Steiner whispered something in Jarvis’ ear and then peered over his glasses, looking at Parmenter. "For the record, my client denies any involvement in the disappearance of the Crandall girl. If, in fact, there were hair strands matching the missing girl's found in that snowplow, he has no idea how they got there. I might add at this point, Special Agent Parmenter, that there are any number of people who have had access to that plow since the incident in question occurred."

  Jack pursed his lips and nodded his head. “But there is only one person, Mr. Steiner,” he said, staring intently at Jarvis, “with a conviction against him for sexual assault against a minor, and who was seen operating that plow in the immediate vicinity on the day the girl disappeared. Your client.”

  Steiner had no come back for that one.

  ****

  By December 24th, four days after Sophie’s disappearance, the inevitable army of television and newspaper reporters had descended on Colville. The incident, happening as it had at the most festive of seasons, and involving as it did an adorable, innocent child, was simply too good not to pick up on.

  The reporters were in a state of considerable outrage at the lack of disclosure thus far in the investigation and were screaming for information. Even though distinctly uncomfortable at the prospect, Callie had little choice but to hold a press conference. It was scheduled for noon at the police station. Jack and Deputy Torrens were in attendance. Predictably, at the appointed hour, the small outer office was crammed with reporters, cameras, and microphones.

  Intending to read from a prepared statement and then beat a hasty retreat, Callie cleared her throat. "As you know, we've made an arrest in the Sophie Crandall case,” she said. “The suspect in custody is a Colville resident named Henry Lee Jarvis, age sixty-two. Jarvis has been employed by the county as an equipment operator for the past twelve years. At this point he's being held as a material witness pending a charge of kidnapping. We anticipate he’ll be arraigned in state court in South Paris within a week.”

  “Has Jarvis admitted to anything?“ one of the reporters asked.

  “To date Jarvis has denied any involvement in the disappearance of the Crandall girl,” Callie responded, “but we are in possession of evidence we feel incriminates him to the extent that we are confident of his involvement. In the meantime the search for Sophie continues."

  A clamoring of shouted questions ensued. "What is this evidence you’ve got against Jarvis?" bellowed a voice Callie recognized as belonging to a reporter with a major television station out of Augusta.

  "We're not prepared to divulge any additional information at this time," Callie responded. "We'll keep you posted on progress. That's all for now."

  The reporters continued to shout a flood of questions. When Callie ignored them and retreated into her private office, they shifted their attention to Jack. "Special Agent Parmenter, can you tell us how you were able to pinpoint Jarvis as a prime suspect?" asked a portly middle-aged woman sporting a bad wig and far too much makeup. She pushed a microphone in Jack’s face as though prepared to shove it down his throat if he refused comment.

  "I'm sorry but we're really not at liberty to comment on the details of the investigation at this time," Jack said. "I'm sure you can appreciate we have to be extremely careful not to prejudice our case against the suspect now in custody. Please excuse me." He shouldered his way through the crowd to join Callie.

  Ralph Torrens was left with the unenviable task of clearing the outer office of the dissatisfied media mob.

  CHAPTER 8

  From his living room window Bert Crandall watched a camera crew unload equipment from a bright red mini-van with white lettering on it's side. He recognized the attractive young woman checking her image in a handheld mirror as a field reporter for Channel 4 News out of Augusta. Although the reporter’s name didn’t immediately come to mind, her face was definitely familiar.

  The woman glanced quickly toward the house and shifted her position slightly, making certain she was properly framed by the camera. The cameraman held up his hand and counted down from four on his fingers, his breath forming billowy clouds of condensation in the chilly air.

  Bert had watched the press conference coverage earlier in the day but had heard nothing from Callie about the evidence linking Henry Lee Jarvis to Sophie's disappearance. He turned on the television and tuned it to the local station wondering if anything further had been released. The news anchor was concluding a report on state-wide milk quotas. His demeanor became more serious as he turned slightly to address a different camera. "And now we have an up-date on the child abduction case that has captured the attention of the entire state. Shawna Mendoza is live on location near Colville. Shawna." An image of the reporter Bert had been watching in front of his home was suddenly before him.

  "Yes, Tom. I'm here at the Crandall farm on Thornhill Road, the scene of the mysterious disappearance of four-year-old Sophie Crandall.

  "As we reported earlier, the child, together with her parents, Bradford and Samantha Crandall of New York, were visiting the girl's grandfather, Bert Crandall, a well known pioneer in the area, when she was abducted while playing in the yard on December 20th.

  "We have now learned the identity of the man being held by the Colville police department since December 22nd. His name is Henry Lee Jarvis. Jarvis is a sixty-two-year-old equipment operator employed by the county and he is now pending arraignment on a charge of kidnapping. Apparently Jarvis is maintaining his innocence even in the face of, what our sources tell us is, overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

  "We learned this afternoon, from a reliable source inside the Oxford County Sheriff’s department, that hair strands found inside the snowplow operated by Jarvis on the day of the disappearance have now been positively identified as those of the missing child. And, Tom, on an even more disturbing note, we've just gotten word that Jarvis served a two year sentence on a felony conviction for child rape some twenty years ago. We'll be getting more details on these new developments to you as they come to us.

  "Meanwhile, police have still made no progress in locating the missing child and are refusing to speculate on the chances that she will eventually be found and returned to her distraught family. But, as you can imagine, many people here fear the worst.

  "The girl's parents have not been available for comment but we have received reports that they are, understandably, extremely distressed.

  "We will continue to provide live coverage as this story unfolds."

  Brad had walked into the living room just after the report had started and joined his father on the sofa. He heard most of what transpired. As it ended he sat forward on the edge of the sofa with his forehead resting on the palms of his hands. "Oh, Jesus."

  Bert turned the set off and shook his head. "God damn it to hell," he said softly.

  ****

  There was nothing unusual, during the coverage of a major news story, about the media’s obsession for new information. It was their job to come up with a fresh slant on what had already been reported, to get anyone even remotely connected to events on camera for an interview. That they were a more or less perpetual irritant to the officers investigating Sophie's disappearance was a sad fact of modern journalism. Bert understood all this. What he could not tolerate were the constant disturbances at the farm. Reporters called continually in a tactless attempt to engage any of the family in conversation.

  At first Bert had reacted to these intrusions by pleading that the reporters respect the family's privacy. These pleas were ignored. Asinine questions were fired at him with a repetitiveness that bordered on insanity. Finally, in frustration, he unplugged his phone.
This only resulted in a constant stream of reporters knocking on his door.

  Finally he’d had enough. In response to yet another wrap on the front door, Bert stepped out and held up his hand for silence before the reporter standing there could ask a question. A small crowd of hopeful journalists, obviously expecting something newsworthy, immediately gathered around him. "Now listen up," he said. "I'm not normally a violent man. But by God, the next one of you goddamned idiots I catch hammering on my door is going to get an assful of buckshot. Is that clear?" He made a point of looking each one of them in the eye, then turned and went back inside the house. A moment later he reappeared with a twelve gauge shotgun resting in the crook of his arm.

  It was the last time a reporter was ever seen on the property.

  ****

  News of the evidence against Jarvis, and his refusal to cooperate in the face of that evidence, brought the Crandalls to a new low.

  “He knows he’s going to be tried for murder,” Brad said to Bert. “If Sophie’s alive he’d be only too happy to prove it. The fact that he hasn’t makes it clear that she’s dead.”

  As much as Bert wanted to reject his son’s contention, there was little he could offer in support of a contradiction. In his heart, though, he could never accept the fact of his granddaughter’s death - not without absolute proof.

  Whatever Samantha’s thoughts were, she kept them to herself. She continued to withdraw into herself more and more as time passed. Brad’s efforts to get her to talk were futile. If he approached her she turned away from him, or left the room altogether.

  He returned home from a solitary walk one morning to find Samantha in the kitchen, staring out the window with a blank expression on her face. He quietly approached her. "Sam, please let me speak with you, honey. We need to--"