Cold Case Cover-Up

He wasn’t really in to having this conversation with her. All he wanted was to take her statement and get out before her radar zeroed in on him. It was too coincidental that she was in his town when Rizzo’s story was splashed all over the news. “It was before my time. I didn’t know any of these people so I can’t really say.”

But as he scanned the wall again, his gaze landed on one of the handwritten notes and he realized he recognized that writing. He pulled it from the wall and read the short missive.

Please take care of this child. She just became an orphan.

“What is it?” she asked him, suddenly alert and beside him, her face anxious with curiosity.

“It looks like my grandfather’s handwriting. He was the sheriff back when the murders happened, so it’s not odd to see his handwriting. I guess it caught me off guard.” He pinned the paper back to the wall.

She stepped closer to him and glanced at the sheet of paper he’d held. “You recognize this handwriting as your grandfather’s? Are you certain? And your grandfather was the sheriff at the time of murders? Sheriff Bill Mackey?”

“That’s right. Why?”

“This note, the one with his handwriting, was left with a child at a church sixty miles from here just days after the murders took place. It was the only clue pointing to who left her, since the preacher didn’t tell the adoptive parents.”

He frowned. What was she talking about? “I’ve never heard that.”

“Few people have.” She locked eyes with him. They were now on fire with excitement. “I don’t think Alicia Renfield died that night at all. I think she was found alive and your grandfather not only knew it, he hid her away and faked her death.”

She was crazy. Or was she so hungry for a story that she would resort to making up nonsense? He shook his head and backed away from her, anger biting at him. His grandfather had been a hero in this town and to him. His death two years ago had rocked Quinn. Her accusations were unthinkable. He grimaced and locked eyes with her, his body now on alert. “Watch what you say about my grandfather. He was a good man. He would never be involved in what you’re accusing him of.”

“You said yourself the handwriting matched.”

He grimaced, then tried to backtrack. “Maybe I was wrong. It could belong to anyone.” He shouldered past her and started to walk out, but he stopped. She was back in town to investigate this murder and it seemed as if she intended to drag his grandfather’s good name through the mud to get her story. “He was a good sheriff, and he was a good man.”

“I’m trying to find out the truth about what happened that night.”

“And you don’t care who you hurt in the process, do you?”

Her eyes widened in surprise at his accusation. “I’m only trying to uncover the truth. My goal isn’t to harm anyone.”

“It doesn’t matter that he’s not here to defend himself anymore?”

She sighed. “Look, I’m not trying to say Sheriff Mackey committed the murders. I only want to find out what he covered up and why. I have a letter from the preacher of the church that says whoever left the child with him believed she was in danger. He died six years ago, so I can’t question him. Besides, your grandfather may be dead, but someone obviously doesn’t want me looking into this.” She pointed at the graffiti on the wall to confirm her words.

She was right. Someone had broken into her room. And this wasn’t a random burglary, either. Whoever it was hadn’t stolen anything, which meant they had either been interrupted before finding what they were looking for, or they just wanted to see what she was investigating and what evidence she had. And they’d come paint-in-hand to warn her off.

She jutted out her chin stubbornly, but he could see the fear reflected in her brown eyes. “I’ll admit I was a little rattled by this, but I won’t be scared off so easily.”

He shouldn’t be allowing her to get under his skin, but he found himself admiring the way she tried to show him a strong front when she was so obviously frightened of what had happened here tonight. It made him want to find who did this, but he knew that was unlikely. “I’ll make a report, but it’s doubtful we’ll catch them. It won’t do much good to run prints since this is a hotel room and we wouldn’t be able to exclude anyone.”

“I understand.” She pulled at the collar of her shirt, a nervous gesture that belied the calm she was trying to show him. “Thank you for coming, Deputy...”

“Dawson,” he said. “Quinn Dawson.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Any relation to Sheriff Dawson?”

He nodded. She’d done her homework. “My father.”

“I see. Law enforcement in this town must be a family matter.”

“My brother, Rich, is also on the force full-time. I’m only a reserve deputy. I fill in whenever I’m in town.”

“Oh, what do you do the rest of the time?”

He grimaced. Why had he said that? He strived to be as vague as possible with his response. The last thing he wanted was to direct her radar his way if she really wasn’t on to him. “Private security.” He put away his notebook and handed her a card with the sheriff department’s information. “If you have any further issues or need any more information, call this number.”

“Thank you. I’ve already spoken to Beverly in your records department. I’m hoping to get a look at the case file, but she assures me it’s an open case and the records aren’t available to the public. Any tips on getting her to change her mind?”

“Beverly won’t release anything without my father’s approval.”

“How cooperative do you think your father will be about releasing that information?”

He knew. Zero cooperation. “I hope you have a plan B,” he told her before walking out.

* * *

The next morning, Dana was met with opposition at the sheriff’s office just as Quinn had predicted.

“The Renfield murders are still technically an open case and we don’t comment to the press on open cases.” Sheriff John Dawson was sharp and clear in his tone. He apparently didn’t care for Dana sticking her nose into his town’s business and he wasn’t going to help her do it.

She wondered if Quinn had told his father that she’d come to town to drag his grandfather’s—Sheriff Dawson’s father-in-law’s—name through the mud. That wasn’t her intention. She wished Quinn believed that, but then why did she care what he thought? The truth was she was touched by the way he’d stood up for his grandfather. He had a family here and he was looking out for them. She liked that. Her own family had disintegrated when her father was killed. Her mother had lost herself in her grief and work and had eventually sent Dana away to boarding school. They had never regained their connection before her mother’s death last month, but Dana still remembered the times when they’d been a family. When she’d broken up with her boyfriend, Jason, several months ago, she was left wondering if she would ever have family of her own again. She’d been looking forward to marriage and one day soon having children. Jason had shattered those dreams when he’d run off with his physical therapist, and her mother’s death had left her completely alone in the world.

She sighed. No use swooning over the ruggedly handsome Quinn Dawson. She imagined he was looking forward to one day having a wife and four or five kids and living the small-town family dream. She wasn’t really suited for that kind of life. She glanced around the room at Rich Dawson. He’d already moved up in ranks and she figured he would one day follow in his father and grandfather’s footsteps and become sheriff. Did Quinn have those same ambitions? By his own admission, he’d taken a job outside of his family’s chosen profession. Was there some reason he hadn’t climbed on board the law enforcement career train?

She felt herself flush. He was right about her. She was always questioning things. Asking too many questions and allowing her thought process to go off in a million different directions. But she was a reporter and that was her job.

She locked eyes with Sheriff Dawson. “Is this case being actively investigated?”

“Not at this time. It’s been a while since we’ve had any leads.”

“Can you tell me when it was last actively investigated.”

He stood, promptly ending the conversation. “I appreciate your position, but as I said, we don’t release information on open cases.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten flak from local authorities not wanting to share their records, but she was a little surprised that she wasn’t able to convince Sheriff Dawson to change his mind. Her charm and notoriety almost always worked.

“Sheriff, the case is thirty years old. Surely, you can make an exception given the age of the investigation. This may very well be a case where fresh eyes can make a difference.”

“My father-in-law was the sheriff at the time of these murders. I was friends with Paul and Rene Renfield. This town was shaken to its core by this incident. Believe me, Miss Lang, the case has been thoroughly investigated. Two people died that night, a woman and child, but this entire town was affected by it.”

She stood, too, realizing she wasn’t going to get anywhere with him. He wasn’t open to fresh eyes. But how would he feel if she presented him with evidence that Alicia Renfield didn’t die that night after all? Would he even believe the note had been written in his own father-in-law’s hand?

She thanked him, then walked out of his office without mentioning the note. If Quinn wanted to tell him, then so be it, but she wasn’t going to share her information if they weren’t willing to do the same.

* * *

Quinn heard the commotion in his dad’s office when he entered the deputies’ bullpen. All eyes were on the scene going on inside that office. From the best he could see, Dana Lang was standing up to his father without fear or hesitation. It took a strong person not to be intimidated by his angry glare. John Dawson had certainly been elected as sheriff based on his name and family connections because his curt personality left something to be desired. Quinn turned his gaze to his brother. Rich would be a successful sheriff one day. He had both the investigative skills and the personality to win people over, as well as a wife and kids everyone in town loved. He also had good ideas for the department, but first he had to wait out his father’s retirement or election defeat by another opponent, neither of which seemed would happen anytime soon.

The door opened and Dana walked out. Quinn set down his coffee as she headed his way, waving and flashing him a grateful smile. “Good morning. Well, you were right. He wouldn’t release them.”

He gave an easy shrug, noticing how much more put together she seemed today. The coffee stains were gone and her hair and makeup were perfect, but he didn’t miss the puffiness that remained around her eyes—evidence of her ordeal. She was certainly beautiful but he liked her more relaxed look from last night. This morning, she could have just stepped out of the hair-and-makeup department of her television show. “Can’t say I’m surprised. How was everything last night? Any other incidents?”

“None. Milo offered to transfer me to another room and I took him up on it. I don’t think I would have been able to sleep with those words glaring down on me all night.”

“I’m glad Milo took care of you.”

“How about you? Anything else exciting happen in town last night?”

He gave a slow shake of his head. His shifts were usually free from a lot of drama, but last night had been a snooze fest after he’d left her. “Nope, nothing. Besides your incident, it was all quiet everywhere else, too.”

“Good, that’s good. Well, it was nice to see you again, Quinn. I’d better be going. I have an appointment at the library with a microfiche machine.”

“You take care, Miss Lang. And be careful. Whoever wrote that threat knows what case you’re working on and obviously doesn’t like it.”

She gave him a smile, but he could see she didn’t need to be reminded that someone had targeted her. She’d probably spent most of the night unable to sleep from listening to noises outside and worrying that whoever had broken into her room would return with more than a paint can. “Thanks for the concern, but I’ll be fine. It’s not the first time someone has tried to convince me to stop investigating. I’ll be careful, though. And, please, call me Dana.”

He watched her walk out and realized he admired her tenacity. She was a tough lady and was determined to see this case through. He knew his grandfather wasn’t involved in the murders, but the image of that note kept running through his mind. If he’d written it, then he had been complicit in abandoning a child and possibly faking her death. Quinn had nearly convinced himself that he’d been wrong about the handwriting and it wasn’t his grandfather’s, but he’d been so sure when he’d first seen it.

“What are you doing here, Quinn?” Rich asked, coming up behind him, his voice holding a tinge of irritation. Quinn already knew the reason his brother was on edge. She was walking out the door. “Do you have any idea who that woman is?”

Quinn scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I know. I recognized her. Dana Lang. I got called in last night for a break-in at her hotel room. She says she’s working on a story about the Renfield murders.”

Rich was one of the few people who knew about Quinn’s involvement in the embassy attack. He’d shared what had happened with his brother and although he knew Rich wouldn’t have blabbed it, the rest of the family, or even those in town, could easily put it all together. They all knew he’d been gone at the same time as the attack, and they knew his background in Special Forces. Two plus two still equaled four in West Bend.

Rich shook his head. “But you just know she’s here sniffing out a story and who’s a bigger story right now than you? You should leave before it’s too late and don’t come back into town until she’s gone.”

“Great, I’ll be exiled from my own hometown.”

Rich touched his shoulder, pulling Quinn’s attention to him. “It’s better than having your face splashed all over every television in America.”

Quinn thought again about Rizzo and the press he was generating these days. His brother was right. He needed to stay as far away from Dana Lang as he could.

* * *

Dana walked to the library, where her journey here had started. She’d made friends with the head librarian, Lila, a wiry, bespectacled woman in her fifties and the first friendly face she’d encountered in town and, if yesterday’s events were any indication, the only friendly face she would see besides Quinn Dawson. But she wouldn’t be dissuaded. She’d faced opposition before on cases she’d investigated and she’d persevered. This would be no different.

Lila’s face lit up when Dana entered the library. She hurried around the main desk and pulled Dana into a hug. “I heard what happened to you last night,” she said. “Did you get hurt?”

She was a little shocked that the news had spread so fast, but then remembered small towns were notorious for everyone knowing everyone else’s business. “I’m fine. He didn’t take anything. Just spray-painted a nasty note on my hotel wall.”

“I feel responsible since I’m the one who recommended that hotel. It’s normally a perfectly safe place.”

She glanced at Lila and realized she was the only person besides the hotel clerk and the sheriff’s office who knew Dana was in town investigating this case. “Did you tell anyone where I was staying or what I was looking in to?”

Lila’s face reddened and she began stammering. “I might have mentioned it to a few folks when I was getting coffee yesterday afternoon. I’m sorry, Dana. I was excited to have a big-time television star in our town. I guess I was bragging. It felt good to have people think I was helping you.”

Dana sighed as she realized Lila probably hadn’t meant for anything bad to happen to her. But someone had heard what she was up to and decided to take matters into their own hands.

“Do you remember who was at the coffee shop yesterday?”

“Not really. Why?”

“Well, someone heard you. If I can figure out who, I might be able to track down the person who broke into my room.”

Lila’s face flushed. “Oh, well, then I suppose you’d also have to have the names of everyone at the grocery store and the beauty shop and everyone who came into the library yesterday. I might have mentioned it more than I let on.”

Dana smiled past her annoyance and tried to reassure her. “That’s okay. So basically, anyone could have heard about it.” You had to love the small-town grapevine. She tried another tactic. “Did anyone seem overly concerned about me being in town? Maybe someone asked a lot of questions about what I was working on?”

“Everyone was curious, of course, but I can’t think of anyone who would want to do you harm.”

She could see this was a dead end. It didn’t matter who had heard the news—she imagined by this point everyone in town knew it.

“Did you locate the microfiche I asked for?”

“I did. I’ll show you where they’re at.” Lila crossed the main floor and Dana followed her. Microfiche wasn’t used much anymore but Dana was surprised when Lila led her through the side door and up a flight of stairs. She’d expected it to be in an out-of-the-way place, like the basement.

She shot Lila a questioning glance.

“We had it downstairs until a pipe burst last year and flooded the basement. We moved the machine upstairs to a storage closet behind the stacks. It’s a little dark but it’s private. No one should bother you.”

She followed Lila through rows of shelves lined with books until they reached a door on the far wall. Lila unlocked the door and Dana stepped inside. The room was filled with boxes and supplies. In the corner was the microfiche machine with a chair pushed up to it. A fluorescent light flickered overhead, threatening to go out at any moment. Lila was right about it being private. Few people would venture here except by accident. But she’d faced worse circumstances and she wasn’t going to complain. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, Lila.”

She motioned to a box of microfiche next to the machine. “I pulled everything I could find on the murders for you. And the machine is set up to print to the circulation-desk printer downstairs. I’ll be around if you need anything.”

Lila disappeared into the stacks while Dana set down her purse and got to work. She pulled out the first microfiche film and placed it into the machine. She scrolled through the newspaper dates until she came to the front-page headline on the day after the murders: Double Murder Stuns West Bend.

The article went on to describe how the local volunteer fire department had responded to the fire at the Renfield home. One body had been discovered, that of Mrs. Rene Renfield. Police were being tight-lipped about how she died, but it was rumored that she was already deceased when the fire was started. The whereabouts of Paul Renfield and the couple’s one-year-old daughter, Alicia, had yet to be determined.

Dana knew from the article in her mom’s belongings, dated six days later, that the child’s body would not be found for two more days, when it was discovered beneath rubble of the house by fireman Jay Englin, but she doubted the veracity of that report, believing the local authorities, namely Sheriff Mackey, had covered up the fact that Alicia—that Dana—was alive. Was she found in the rubble of the house two days after the fire as this article stated? It seemed unlikely. She would have been severely dehydrated and suffering smoke inhalation at the least, and been taken immediately to the hospital, where several people would have seen her, making a cover-up unlikely. How then, and more importantly when, did Jay Englin find her?

She wished she could track him down, but so far, she hadn’t been able to find a current address or online presence for him. He was the one person still living who could confirm that a child’s body had actually been discovered. She thought about asking Lila if she had any information on Jay’s whereabouts. She wasn’t giving up on talking to him and would continue trying to locate him.

She printed out several articles that mentioned the murders and jotted down every piece of information she could find about the details of the case, hoping the reporters who’d written for the paper back then had better access to the police files than she did. Perhaps she could even track down one of them for an interview. She glanced at the bylines and realized most of the articles were written by two people, Jerry Foster and Jane Shaw. She added their names to her list of people she wanted to interview. It would be nice to speak to them to discover if there was anything in their notes that hadn’t made it into the articles.

She took out her phone and looked up the paper online, only to discover it had folded back in the late nineties, when the digital age began to make papers around the country flounder. It was no surprise that a small-town paper couldn’t make it. There was, however, a webpage that seemed active. She clicked the link and discovered Jerry Foster still operated an online blog. She skimmed through the archives and found no mention of the murder, but if he was still writing then perhaps he would remember the case. She quickly pulled up her email and shot him a message asking to meet.

Suddenly, the room went dark. The machine shut down, and only the light from her phone illuminated the room. The machine was old and probably hadn’t been used in a while. Perhaps it had blown a fuse. She opened the door and found the lights were off in the stacks as well, and it was dark as night as she made her way toward the light she saw filtering in through the windows in the main area.

She cleared the stacks and looked around. No one was here, but the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly raised and Dana swore she felt eyes on her, watching her. She glanced around and saw no one, yet she couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that she wasn’t alone. She pressed the button for the elevator, then realized it wasn’t working, either.

Rubbing her arms, that feeling of being watched was strong. Someone was up here with her, but why weren’t they showing themselves? “Hello?” she called, watching for movement and feeling silly for the uneasiness washing over her. It was probably Lila or one of the other librarians reshelving or straightening books. Sure they were. In the dark. “Hello?” she called again.

No one responded.

A door slammed and she jumped and spun around. Someone had just left through the side door that led downstairs. But why hadn’t they answered when she’d called?

She hurried over and pushed open the door, “Who’s there?” she called, her voice echoing through the stairwell. “I know someone was just here. Who is it?”

She started down the steps. The lights were out here, too, but if someone was trying to frighten her they’d have to do a better job than spying on her at the library or cutting power to the microfiche. She wasn’t going to be intimidated.

In the darkness, she felt a hand on her back, shoving her. She went tumbling down the concrete steps, pain shooting through her with every bump. She hit the bottom, jamming her shoulder into the concrete floor. Her head spun, but she forced herself to glance up, pain shooting through her as she did. All she saw was darkness above her. A figure moved at the top of the stairs but she couldn’t make it out. Man or woman? Young or old? She couldn’t tell. Then the darkness pulled her away and she didn’t know anything else.