Flowers on Her Grave Read online

  “He’s retired now. I’ll have to track him down,” Katie said.

  “He’s still in the area and he’s a really easy-going guy. He’ll remember this case, had an amazing memory for details—and barely had to look at his notes to jog his memory.” The sergeant laughed.

  Katie made some notes. “So Stiles had left work early because he wasn’t feeling well.”

  “Yeah, they said three days previous he left because he wasn’t feeling well and went home.”

  “Did they think he was actually sick?” Katie asked.

  “They said he wasn’t concentrating on the work and used the restroom several times. It seemed legitimate.”

  “Okay.”

  “So since no one could reach him and he hadn’t shown up for work, I went to his residence. It was a small apartment on… I think it was on Diamond Street.”

  Katie nodded.

  “When I got there, his car wasn’t there, but I knocked on the door several times. No answer. I looked inside through the window and everything looked fine. I tried the front door and it was locked. There was a small sliding door that entered into the small dining area and it was unlocked. I kept knocking and saying his name.”

  Katie wrote notes detailing the officer’s approach, which matched the report. Her thoughts were that Stiles might have always left the slider unlocked or he just forgot that day. Maybe he didn’t use the front door and entered and exited through the slider.

  “I decided to go inside since it was a welfare check. I let Dispatch know what I was doing and I heard another deputy respond that he was in the area. I pulled open the sliding door and called for him again. There was nothing out of place and no unusual smells.”

  Katie knew that she meant the smell of a deceased person. There was no mistaking that stench.

  “Would you like anything else?” the waitress interrupted.

  “No, thank you. Not right now,” the sergeant replied.

  “Did it look like anyone had been there recently?”

  “See, that’s the thing. It looked like no one had been there in a week, maybe more. That’s why I thought it was strange that there was stuff on the kitchen counter to make a sandwich. It was obvious that it had been there for more than a couple of days. There was something strange about it.”

  “I saw the photos,” Katie said. She shuffled through her file and pulled out one of the photographs of the half-made sandwich.

  Sergeant Daniels took a look at the photos again to refresh her recollection. “See,” she said, “the knife and bread are almost symmetrical. And look at how the tomato was perfectly sliced and left, it’s more like a photo shoot.”

  Katie looked at the image again. The sergeant was correct in her assessment—the items looked like they were arranged, not natural.

  “I don’t know. It seemed like it was staged to look like Stiles had been there and made a sandwich and then…”

  “And then disappeared,” Katie finished her sentence.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did CSI come out?”

  “They didn’t.”

  “What do you mean? The photographs,” Katie said.

  “I took them. I had one of those disposable cameras in my patrol car. Overzealous, I guess, still being a rookie. Trying too hard to impress.”

  “I don’t think so… it showed good instincts,” Katie said. “It’s easy to dismiss things when nothing comes of it.”

  The sergeant relaxed a bit, warming to Katie’s inquiry. She obviously realized that Katie wanted to solve the case as much as she had. “Well, nothing did come out of it.”

  “What did the rest of the apartment look like?”

  “Organized. Neat. No dishes in the sink. Clothes hung up in the closet. That kind of thing.”

  “Bed made?”

  “I think so… I’m not sure.”

  “So it didn’t look like someone coming home and crashing out sick for a few days. Were there delivery containers? Evidence of watching TV in the living room. Maybe sleeping on the couch? That kind of thing.” Katie tried to picture it in her mind.

  “Exactly. I didn’t realize at the time, but everything seemed like he had just left. But…”

  “But what?”

  “His keys and wallet were on a table next to the front door.”

  Katie shuffled through the photos but there weren’t any taken that showed the front door area.

  “Thinking back now, it did seem like he hadn’t been home. I was still a rookie, but even so, the apartment did seem unnatural… staged.”

  Katie quickly read through her notes. “Well, I think I have everything I need. If I have any questions, I’ll call you.”

  Sergeant Daniels reached into her pocket and retrieved a business card. She quickly wrote a number on the back. “Here’s my cell.”

  “Thank you,” said Katie as she took the card and gathered her notes and photocopies of the case.

  “Detective Scott?”

  Katie turned to the sergeant.

  “Let me know if you find him,” she said sincerely.

  She nodded. “I will. Thank you again.”

  Five

  Thursday 1645 hours

  The valley view from the mountain was breathtaking and Katie never tired of it. It took almost an hour to drive the windy gravel and dirt road to Detective Paul Patton’s house. She was able to find his phone number and address from Human Resources on his exit interview a few years ago from the sheriff’s department.

  Katie was a bit hesitant contacting him due to her previous experiences with some of the department’s detectives, but Detective Patton was friendly and agreeable on the phone, inviting her up to his cabin to discuss the case in more detail.

  As Katie made the final turn into his driveway, she saw a small custom log house with a large front porch which she thought must have a stunning view of the valley between the pines and oaks clustered along the ridge behind her.

  Katie steered her car to park next to a brown pickup truck, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. Her gut told her Sam Stiles never made it home that day. From when he left the auto garage but before he arrived at his apartment, he had vanished.

  Opening the car door, Katie grabbed her notes and copies of the file and was immediately confronted by the strong, wonderful aroma of pine. The slight breeze caught the scent and carried it around with the loose leaves, an outdoor fragrance that remained forever etched in Katie’s memory. No matter where her life carried her, she would always remember the small things about living in Pine Valley, taking them with her wherever she went.

  She walked around the pickup truck and glanced in the bed filled with dark blue tarps, camping gear, maintenance items, carefully coiled extension cords and some type of air compressor.

  She jumped as something wet touched her hand. Down by her knees a stocky yellow Labrador retriever was giving her the once-over. He looked old with a mostly greyish-white face and seemed quite mellow about his security detail.

  “Hey, boy,” she said and gave him a pet on top of the head. “Aren’t you a handsome guy.”

  “Tank, come here,” a man’s voice called out, and the dog instantly turned and trotted back to his owner.

  Katie noticed that the front of the property was just as neat and organized as the inside of his truck. Firewood was cut and perfectly stacked. Several large half barrels were filled with late-season vegetables—each had a carefully constructed barrier made of chicken wire to keep any wild animals from foraging.

  “Detective Scott, I presume,” said the man. He was heavyset; his thick grey hair still kept in a short uniform style, and wore jeans and a red flannel long-sleeved shirt.

  “Yes, but please call me Katie.”

  “Paul Patton,” he said, extending his hand in greeting.

  “Detective?” she said.

  “No, I’m just Paul now. When I retired I hung up that part of my life.”

  “Nice to meet you, Paul.” Katie noticed his grip was firm but a respe
ctful squeeze. He had several deep ridged scars on the back of his hands.

  “Likewise. Just made some lemonade iced tea,” he said walking back to the house. “Would you like some?”

  “Sounds great.” Katie thought his home was beautiful and quiet. It was a nice place to retire after dealing with homicides and chasing bad guys for a career.

  “C’mon inside,” he said and hovered at the door waiting for Katie to enter.

  Katie looked around the home. She’d expected it all to be in brown tones, large game heads on the wall, and everything made of leather and dark accentuations, but inside it was decorated with a palette of cool colors of blue and green with accents of raw wood. It was quite enchanting and gave a sense of tranquility just as the outdoors—there was no other way to describe it. She realized that it must have taken a painstaking amount of time to create this lovely home.

  “What a beautiful place,” Katie said.

  “Thank you. It’s been years in the making—to create what we wanted,” he said.

  Katie nodded and followed Paul into the large kitchen area of clean white cabinets and stainless steel appliances. The counters were slightly cluttered with small appliances and pottery items that held all sorts of accessories and utensils.

  Paul brought a glass pitcher filled with iced tea and set it down on the counter. Katie took a seat at the bar and watched as he poured her a large glass of tea filled with ice. He slid it over to her and then filled his own glass.

  “Thank you,” she said and took a nice long drink. “This is fantastic. Lemon and mint… no wait, it’s spearmint.”

  The dog moseyed around her and then lay on the floor nearby.

  “You know your stuff.”

  “I have several kinds at my house. It’s one of the things that I love about having enough room to grow fresh herbs and vegetables.”

  Paul came around the counter and took a seat next to Katie. “So, you want to ask me about the Sam Stiles case.”

  “Yes. Thank you for seeing me so quickly.”

  “For you, it’s my pleasure.”

  Katie wasn’t sure what he meant by that statement. “I’m sorry…”

  He laughed. “I know your uncle well, we go way back. Too many years to say.”

  “Oh,” she said, smiling. Her uncle had many close friends who would do just about anything for him.

  “He talks about you all the time. I see him once or twice a month for poker. A bunch of old guys talking about the ol’ days.”

  “Well, I still appreciate you seeing me today.”

  “I can imagine that you want to dig into this case, but I have to tell you, we worked this case hard for a couple of weeks and didn’t turn up much. There was no evidence to speak of—only witnesses and people who knew him. Leads were mostly driven by accounts, not forensics.”

  “You seem to remember it well.”

  “After you called I dug into one of the boxes where I keep all of my cases—historical stuff. I thought I might write a book someday.” He took a long drink of tea. “Silly, I know, but useful now to refresh my memory.”

  “I saw in your report that Sam’s boss and co-workers at Palmer Auto thought that he might have fallen victim to some shady characters because he gambled—possibly owed some money.” She pulled out her report and skimmed through areas where she highlighted portions of interest. “And you questioned,” she flipped several pages, “the Golden Owl bar owner, Patrick McDermott.”

  “Oh yes, McDermott—he’s dead now—died last year. He owned several businesses around Pine Valley including a few restaurants and a strip mall. But he loved the bar scene and would spend most of his time there. People knew him well. He didn’t have a family. The bar was his family. But it doesn’t matter, the bar is closed, and McDermott is dead.”

  “He said that he hadn’t seen Stiles for a couple of weeks. Do you think that was true?” she said.

  “Look, everyone knew McDermott. Many cops also frequented that same bar.”

  “Was there illegal activity?”

  “Just the usual stuff—gambling on a pool game or playing liars dice at the bar. Nothing that would warrant a hitman to come after you if you owed money. No, nothing like that,” he said.

  Katie couldn’t help but notice that Paul seemed agitated by the question and didn’t hold eye contact with her. She made a mental note, but pressed on. “You stated in the report that you canvassed all the places that Stiles either had contact with, or was known to some of the patrons.”

  “Yeah, we spent more time tracking down leads from family and friends—it turned up absolutely nothing. No one had seen him or heard from him. It was like he just vanished.”

  Katie hesitated but asked, “Do you think that he was killed?”

  Paul took a breath and fiddled with the placemat underneath his iced tea. “I think it’s quite possible that when he left work that day he ran into someone, not someone he knew, per se, but someone who had crime in mind. Maybe he was robbed? Maybe he was carjacked? Maybe he went to buy drugs? Though there was no evidence of him using. Anything could have happened to him. These are just theories, not backed up by any evidence. We didn’t have much to work with.”

  “Something had to have happened to him before he made it home,” Katie said. “I saw the photos of his apartment that the deputy took and I have to say that it does look suspicious… the items left on the kitchen counter appeared staged. His wallet and keys left behind… it was like someone had put them there to make it look like he had come home—and left again.”

  Paul got up and went into the kitchen to refill his drink. “Would you like some more?”

  “I’m good. Thank you.”

  He filled his glass, rattling the ice cubes. This time he stood in the kitchen and leaned against the counter. “I followed the Toymaker case and those little girls you found last year. You have a gift, Detective Scott. I was glad that the sheriff decided to make the cold case unit a reality.”

  Katie appreciated the compliment, but it made her a bit uncomfortable—she was just doing her job and she knew that she still had a lot more to learn. “I’m realizing that working cold cases is not only about working all the evidence with a fresh perspective and using your gut instincts, but it also involves having a little bit of luck on your side.”

  He laughed. “So true. I had many that drove me crazy until there was the smallest thing that broke the case wide open.”

  Tank got up and made his way to the kitchen where he noisily lapped up water.

  “So, I’m getting the feeling you think there’s more to this case than just a missing person. And whoever took him went to his apartment, arranged the sandwich-making items on the counter, left his wallet and keys to make it look like he had come home,” Paul said, watching Katie carefully, like he wanted to catch her in a lie.

  “I don’t want to jump to any conclusions. I want to look at everything and follow leads that you may or may not have accomplished.” She was careful how she worded her answer not to make him defensive. “Five years have passed. There could be a number of things that could shed some light on why Stiles went missing. Someone coming forward…”

  “I’m beginning to understand what Sheriff Scott sees in you.” He walked back around and sat down next to Katie again. “We followed every lead that came to us, but everything came back to Palmer Auto and the parents.”

  “Parents?”

  “Don’t seem so shocked. Believe me, I’ve been fooled a time or two by some of the nicest people that murdered their five-year-old little girl or smothered a mother-in-law with a pillow. I’ve been fooled. We’re only human.”

  Katie recalled her conversation with Mrs. Stiles; her fading health, a widow, just wanting to have some closure on her only son. “Mrs. Stiles called me today wanting to know if there had been any new leads on her son’s case. It was his birthday…”

  “Those are the hardest calls, I know.”

  “Mr. Stiles died a couple of years ago and she’s not we
ll herself.”

  “I remember the parents calling on the victim’s birthday. They were optimistic and strong at first, but the more time went by you could see the pain and deep sorrow on their faces as they lost hope. They knew that their son was most likely dead—but…”

  “But what?”

  “But they kept hopeful—that’s all anyone can do.”

  “If you were going to pick up this cold case—what would be something that you would do this time? Anything any different?”

  “Thinking back, I remember feeling someone wasn’t telling the truth—or the whole truth—at the auto shop. I didn’t catch anyone in a lie and no one had any real criminal record, but I just had this feeling like they were hiding something.”

  “What did you do?”

  “What could I do? I followed through with questions and they seemed to be telling the truth. I remember thinking that maybe Stiles never came to work that morning… maybe they were covering their tracks.”

  The same thought had crossed Katie’s mind.

  “I saw here that you spoke to some of the customers.”

  “Yeah, we were able to track them down and they all said that Stiles was there.”

  “Did they say anything that seemed…”

  “Out of sorts? Weird? Not usual?”

  Katie laughed. “Well, something like that.”

  “All three customers were new. It was their first time using Palmer Auto Repair. That alone seemed a bit odd, but I spoke with all of them and they verified the work with receipts.”

  Katie finished her iced tea. It would be getting dark soon and she wanted to get a start on the drive home along the slow winding road she had to take.

  “Looks like you have your work cut out for you,” he said.

  “I think so, but if it was easy everyone would be a cold case detective,” she said. “Well, I think that I have everything I need—for now.” She stood up and gathered her things. “Thank you again for seeing me, and the wonderful iced tea.”

  “Wait just a moment,” he said and hurried out of the kitchen area, disappearing down the hall. He returned in about five minutes holding a plain manila folder. Handing the thin file to her, he said, “Here. This is something that might help you.”