Chapter 17

17

August 2000

"It's Matthew Ellis," Matthew called out with a shaky voice.

"We got a call about a shooting," Sheriff Butler said, lowering his weapon warily. At his side was Deputy Levi Robbins, who'd pulled down the lane just after the sheriff.

"That was me," Matthew said. His next sentence was unintelligible, and the sheriff had to ask him to repeat it. "My daughter and her husband are dead," Matthew repeated, his voice strangled with tears. "There's blood everywhere," he cried, looking at the sheriff desperately. "Everywhere."

Josie, still behind him, pressed her face into his back. "They shot Josie too," Matthew said, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief he pulled from his back pocket.

"We've got help coming. Let me take a look," Butler said. Josie remained behind her grandfather.

"It's okay, Shoo," Matthew said, moving aside so that the girl came into view. "They're here to help."

Levi gave a low whistle. He didn't understand how the girl could still be standing. Josie swayed on her feet, and her grandfather grabbed her uninjured arm and guided her to the truck's running board where she sat.

"Don't worry, honey, an ambulance is on its way," the sheriff assured her. "You said they shot Josie. There was more than one person?"

Matthew leaned against the truck to steady himself. "I don't know. I don't know who did this."

"You think they're gone?" The sheriff's eyes scanned the property.

"I didn't see anybody else in the house," Matthew said. "Aww, Jesus, it's bad. It's really, really bad."

"You went inside?" Butler asked.

Matthew nodded. "I found Lynne in her bedroom and William in Josie's room. I don't know where my grandson is." A new wave of tears overtook him.

"We have to make sure the house is clear before we send the EMTs inside," the sheriff said apologetically. "You understand that, don't you, Matthew?"

"Not much you can do for them now," Matthew whispered.

Josie reached up and tugged on his shirtsleeve. "Don't say that, Grandpa. They have to try," she insisted. "They can take them to the hospital and make them better." Josie cried, her tears carving a path down her dirty face.

"You let us take care of things now, darling," Sheriff Butler said in a low soothing voice.

"I need you to move away from the house now," the sheriff said. "Let us do our job now." He and Levi needed to view the crime scene then secure it. For all they knew, the perpetrator was still inside the house. And there was the outside chance that one or more of the victims was still alive. Precious seconds were being lost. Seconds that could never be retrieved.

The sun had already burned away the morning moisture. With a sweat-slicked hand, Matthew held Josie by the elbow as she limped over to the old maple tree and sat beneath its green canopy to wait. The sheriff and Levi moved cautiously through the back door, weapons drawn.

The next moments passed in a hazy blur. More deputies arrived, and Matthew once again told them what he knew.

The cry of an oncoming ambulance filled the air and Matthew joined Josie beneath the maple tree. He wrapped his arms around his granddaughter, being careful to avoid her injured arm, and Josie buried her face in his shoulder, inhaling the scent of tobacco mixed with the harsh detergent used to wash his work clothes.

"We'll have them check you out, Shoo, while they look for Ethan, okay?" Matthew said, wiping Josie's tears from beneath her eyes with his thumbs.

The ambulance turned down the lane and came to a stop just beyond the crime tape. Out stepped two paramedics, a man and a woman. They opened the back doors, scanned the scene in front of them, and waited for direction from one of the deputies.

Matthew waved the EMTs over. "My granddaughter was shot," he told the paramedics, who quickly grabbed a gurney and rushed toward them. They transitioned Josie to the stretcher and carried her to the ambulance's back deck where they could get a better look at her injuries.

"You won't leave just yet, will you?" Matthew asked the female paramedic.

"We'll check her out, but by the look of that arm, we'll need to take her to the hospital in Algona. We need to get going soon, but I'll let you know before we leave," she said, giving Matthew a reassuring smile.

"I'll be right back, honey," Matthew said, and Josie clutched at his hand, not wanting him to go. "I won't go out of your sight," he promised. Josie reluctantly released his grip.

Once through the unlocked front door, Sheriff Butler made a mental note to ask Matthew Ellis if he had just walked into the home or used a key.

The house was dim and quiet and had the feel of being empty. Butler and Levi started in the living room, looked behind the heavy drapes and in the closet, cleared it, and then moved on to check the first-floor bathroom.

"No one in here," Levi declared, "but it looks like we've got some blood in the sink."

Sheriff Butler stuck his head in the room. The bottom and sides of the white porcelain sink were covered with a pinkish film. Butler nodded. The two moved on to the dining room. In the middle of the room was a large wide-planked wooden table surrounded by six chairs. An arrangement of dried flowers sat in the center of the table.

"Clear," Butler called, wiping sweat from his face. The room was hotter than a Dutch oven though he noted that there was an air-conditioning unit in the window. It was odd that the unit wasn't running in this heat, especially since the windows were shut tight.

Levi took the lead and entered the kitchen first. It too was empty. A coffee maker was filled with black liquid. Levi reached out to touch the glass pot—it was cool to the touch. Hanging on a key rack next to the back door were two sets of keys that probably went to the vehicles parked outside.

"Should we check downstairs?" Levi asked, nodding toward the basement door.

Butler checked the slide lock near the top of the door. It was in place. "Door's locked from outside," he said. "We'll clear it after we go upstairs. That's where Matthew said the victims are."

Butler led the way up the stairs. The heat was stifling. Beads of sweat dripped into his eyes. Butler could smell fear emanating from the younger deputy's skin. Levi had seen plenty of dead bodies before, the casualties from motor vehicle accidents, two suicides, and the corpse of a man who tripped over his own gun and shot himself while turkey hunting, but never the victim of a murder. Levi had no idea what they were walking into. The sheriff had seen it all, but it didn't make it any easier to step into a crime scene. Was it a murder-suicide? Had an intruder entered the home and started shooting? If so, what was the motive?

On the staircase, there was a blind turn coming up. They had no idea who or what was around the corner. Butler tried to listen for any sound above them, but all he could hear was his own breathing. They needed to stay alert. The sheriff signaled for Levi to stop, took a deep breath, and quickly rounded the corner with his firearm at the ready. No one there. He paused to steady his breath and continued upward.

When Butler reached the second-floor landing, the smell hit him in the face. Rust intermingled with the scent of fecal matter. Blood and the bowels relaxing soon after death.

"Jesus," Levi said.

"Breathe through your mouth," Butler ordered as he moved down the hallway. He pushed open the first door. A bathroom. He pulled aside the shower curtain. No one there. "Clear," Butler called over his shoulder. They were getting closer.

Levi stood in front of a closed bedroom door. He was afraid to touch the knob. What if he wiped away fingerprints? He didn't want to see what was behind the door. He glanced back at the sheriff who nodded at him. Trying to touch as little surface as possible, Levi twisted the knob, nudged the door open, and stepped into the room with his gun drawn. The smell was overwhelming, and Levi resisted the urge to cover his nose.

The morning sun seeped through the edges of the blinds. At first glance, the room looked like any other bedroom. A dresser sat against the wall topped with framed family photos, an unmade bed, a stack of books, and a scattering of coins on a bedside table. But the carnage next to the bed was unmistakable. A woman. Her body already decomposing in the sweltering heat of the room.

Behind him, Levi heard Butler's voice. "Room clear?" he asked.

It took a second for Levi to react, but he bent down, lifted the lace-edged bed skirt, and looked beneath the bed. He half expected someone to peer back at him. No one there. He checked the closet, also empty.

"Clear," Levi breathed, running a hand through this damp hair. "First victim," he said as the sheriff squeezed through the doorway behind him.

"Ah, man," Butler said. "That's Lynne Doyle. Looks like a gunshot to the chest at pretty close range."

"Mr. Ellis said that there were two bodies," Levi said as they backed out of the room.

"Yeah, you cover me this time," Butler said. "I'll go first. You okay?" he looked at Levi with concern. His face was pale, eyes wide.

"I'm good," Levi answered.

The sheriff led the way, pausing at the next bedroom on the left. This door stood wide-open and the male victim lay face-up on the hardwood floor. He was barefoot and dressed in boxers and a T-shirt, but where his face should have been was a great yawning wound that exposed bone and gray matter.

"Damn," Levi breathed. "That the husband?" he asked, his heart pounding.

"Looks like it, but we'll have to confirm that," Butler said.

Levi looked around the room. It was clearly a young teen's room. The girl sitting outside beneath the maple tree. On the wall, there was a poster of a horse galloping through a yellow meadow and another of NSYNC. The baseboards were decorated with baseball stickers.

There was a single bed covered in a purple comforter and piled with stuffed animals. Either the bed was made earlier or wasn't slept in. There was a white wooden dresser with a softball glove and a bottle of pink nail polish sitting atop it. Above the dresser was a bulletin board covered with 4-H ribbons. Next to the bed were two unrolled sleeping bags.

"Come on," Butler said. "We have one more room to check out."

The final room, a typical teenage boy's room with piles of dirty clothes, pop cans, and car magazines. It smelled like sweat socks and Axe body spray. No dead bodies.

The men returned to the hallway stood in the doorway where the male victim was. "What do you think? Murder-suicide?" Levi asked. "He offed the wife and killed himself in here?"

"Doesn't look like a suicide to me," the sheriff answered. "No weapon."

"Right," Levi said, nodding. "Now we talk to the girl downstairs and find the brother?"

"And find the other girl," the sheriff said grimly.

"Other girl?" Levi asked. "What do you mean?"

"There are two sleeping bags on the floor," Butler explained. "The gym bag filled with clothes next to it. It was a sleepover." The sheriff shook his head. "What the hell happened to the other girl?"

In the ambulance, paramedic Lowell Steubens was trying to distract Josie Doyle from the frenzy of activity just beyond them.

Lanky and long limbed, with basset hound brown eyes and an easy smile that put his injured charges at ease, thirty-nine-year-old Lowell had gone to elementary school with Lynne Doyle and remembered her as a shy, quiet girl but they hadn't said more than a few words to each other in passing. Despite the small community, Lowell and Lynne ran in different circles.

"You look cold," Lowell observed. "Let's check you out quick and then I'll get you a blanket." Josie didn't respond. She closed her eyes but couldn't mute the deputies' chatter, the click and buzz of their radios. Sounds so foreign to the farm.

The back of the ambulance smelled like a hospital room. Like rubbing alcohol.

There was the snap of latex gloves and Josie flinched.

The female paramedic gently brushed a stray lock of hair from Josie's eyes.

"My name is Erin," she said. "And this is my friend, Lowell. We're going to check you out, and then once Sheriff Butler says we can leave, we'll take you to the hospital so the docs can take a look at your arm. How about you let me look at your other one so I can take your blood pressure?" she asked.

Josie held up her right arm so the woman could wrap the blood pressure cuff around her biceps. Josie winced as the pressure in her arm built and then eased. "Did I hurt you?" Erin asked. "I'm sorry."

"No," Josie said dully. "It doesn't hurt. Just feels weird."

There was a flurry of activity next to the house. Josie tried to sit up to see what was happening. Lowell eased her back down on the stretcher.

"Can you tell me what happened to your arm?" he asked. A bloody ragged notch had been taken out of the fleshy part of Josie's tricep, and buckshot was embedded in the skin.

"We were playing on the trampoline and we heard the bangs. We went to see what was going on and someone came after us and we ran. I made it to the field but Becky didn't. Then he shot me. Is Becky okay? Did you find her?"

Lowell and Erin exchanged a look. "I'm sure a deputy is going to talk to you soon," Erin murmured. "I'll go see what's happening."

"Do you know where my brother is?" Josie asked Lowell. "I couldn't find him or Becky."

"Try not to think about that now," Lowell said soothingly. "I'm going to leave your arm for the doc to take a closer look at," Lowell smiled encouragingly.

"This might sting a bit," Lowell said, lightly swiping the soles of Josie's feet with a with cold liquid. "It's alcohol," he explained. "To clean your cuts." Josie winced at the burning sensation. "They aren't too deep. We'll clean them up and get you to the hospital where the real docs will check you out."

"Can't I stay with my grandpa?" Josie asked. "My arm really doesn't hurt that bad."

"Sorry, kiddo," Lowell said. "We have to take you to the hospital, doctor's orders."

"I don't want to go," Josie said and tried to slip past Lowell.

"Whoa now," he said, catching Josie around the waist. "Hold up there. You don't want to get me in trouble, do you?"

Matthew, seeing the ruckus, came over to the ambulance. "Come on, Shoo," he said. "You stay put now. Let them help you."

Josie reluctantly sat back down. "You're going to come with me, aren't you?" she asked her grandfather.

Instead of answering, Matthew took her hand. "Listen," he said. "The police will want to talk to you for a few minutes before they take you to the hospital. Do you think you can do that, Josie? It's really important. We need to do all we can to help find your brother and friend."

All Josie wanted to do was to forget. Forget the blood and her parents' broken bodies and the terror of being chased into the field, but the images were seared into her brain. She would never be able to forget but she could try and help. She would hold on to every detail and tell them to the police, so whoever did this would be caught and so that her brother and Becky would come home to them.

In Burden, Becky's mother, Margo Allen, had just started her shift at the grocery store and was pulling her green apron over her head and signing into her cash register when her first customer of the day approached her checkout lane. "How are you today, Bonnie?" Margo asked when Bonnie Mitchell laid her items on the counter.

"Oh, just fine," Bonnie said. "Did you hear what happened west of town?" she leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper.

"No, what?" Margo asked as she handed Bonnie her receipt.

"Big to-do near the old bitternut. All kinds of police out there, and that must have been why I heard the ambulance scream down the street a little while ago."

"Bitternut?" Margo repeated. "On Meadow Rue?" A brief flash of concern swept over her, but she quickly dismissed it. The Doyles lived on Meadow Rue. But they were supposed to leave for the fair in Des Moines a few hours ago. If something was wrong, surely she would have been contacted by now.

"Bet it's one of those meth houses," Bonnie said, shaking her head.

Margo handed the woman her bagged items and wished her a good day. How many homes were actually on Meadow Rue? She replayed the drive over in her mind. At least four, probably more. Chances were it had nothing to do with the Doyles.

Margo looked around the store. There were only a few customers. "Hey, Tommy," Margo said to the boy placing freshly picked ears of corn on a display, "can you watch the front for a few minutes?"

Margo went to the break room and pulled her purse from the cupboard where she stored it during work hours. Inside was the little red notebook where she kept important numbers. She picked up the phone and dialed the Doyle house. It rang and rang. She hung up. Of course there was no answer. She checked her watch. It was just after 9:00 a.m. Margo fiddled with a strand of hair that escaped its clip.

The owner of the store, Leonard Shaffer, wouldn't mind if she stepped out for a bit. Tommy could cover things for a while. Her husband, almost ex-husband, she amended, would think she was silly, overprotective. Becky was growing up so fast, but she was still her little girl. A niggle of doubt kept poking at her. Something's wrong, something's wrong. Margo looked at her watch. She'd be there and back in about forty minutes. And what could it hurt? She'd just drive past the Doyle farm and then come right back.

Oblivious to the gathering crowd of law enforcement and paramedics, Levi burst out the front door and stumbled from the house. Hands on his knees, he gulped in the fresh air, trying to clear his nose and throat of the smell of blood and death. Close behind came Sheriff Butler, grim faced and drenched with sweat.

"Sheriff?" a young deputy stepped forward, his face shining with anticipation.

"Seal off the property," Sheriff Butler ordered. "No one comes or goes without my permission." The deputy nodded and ran off to spread the word and retrieve the yellow crime tape from his cruiser.

"Levi," Butler said.

Levi stood up straight and willed his stomach to settle. "Sir?" he asked.

Butler looked over to where Matthew Ellis was standing beneath the maple tree, watching them carefully, hat in his hand. Butler gave a little shake of his head and Matthew's face fell.

"I need you to put a call in to the state police," Butler said, turning his attention to Levi. "Tell them we need some agents here ASAP." He mopped his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. "And tell them to bring the search dogs. We've got two dead bodies, two missing kids, and we're going to need all the help we can get."