Murder in a Small Town: Lancaster, WI

Lancaster, WI

Jessica arrives at the Lancaster sheriff’s department close to dusk and wearily drags herself up the mountainous steps, finally entering through the massive and ornately carved wooden door. She scans the interior and notices the gray, monochromatic stillness - silence. “This is quite different from the Cleveland precinct”, she thinks. On alert, she then walks to the vacant duty window and rings the bell. The sound echoes eerily in the emptiness. “Hello,” she calls out. Just then, the unmistakable sound of a toilet flushing can be heard. A smallish uniformed deputy rounds the corner zipping his pants and is surprised by the petite brunette standing at the window.

 Flustered and perturbed at being caught off guard, he gruffly asks what she wants. “Hi deputy, I’m Jessica Reddit from the Cleveland Joint Task Force on unsolved homicides”, she says flashing her badge.

“I’ve been temporarily assigned to the state of Wisconsin, particularly the Lancaster office to go over some of the more complex cold-cases and to offer assistance on clearing them.” “Whew!” she thinks. “I’m glad I rehearsed this part.”

The deputy glares at Jessica. “Well, I heard you were coming Ms. Rabbit. I’m Deputy Yoder and I am not going lie about being glad you’re here. I didn’t ask for your help, so don’t expect a whole lot of cooperation on my part,” he says. Jessica is used to this kind of response, she rolls her eyes, sighs heavily, and firmly speaks up,

“The name is REDDIT, Deputy Yoder, and I am here to assist your department in clearing cold cases. I’m to coordinate all investigations with a detective Dominik Swarovski. If you could just point me in his direction, I will kindly be on my way”. Jessica’s adrenaline is surging at this point.

“Okay, Ms. REDDIT”, says Yoder condescendingly. “Don't get your panties in a wad. If you want to find Swarovski, you might start by checking Allie’s Pub down the street. He’s there most evenings about this time. Of course, I’m sure he’s had more than a few by now. Good luck and b’bye”.

“What about Sheriff Gerrard?” asks Jessica. “If he’s here, I’d like to speak with him as well”. “The Sheriff has left for the day”, says Yoder without looking up from his ledger. “He’ll be back in the morning”.

“Well, isn’t this just splendid”, says Jessica. She looks at her watch and sees that it is just 7:30. She is tired. “Okay then, I guess there’s nothing left to do but go to the hotel. I forget these small towns roll up their sidewalks as soon as the sun goes down”, she says to no one in particular. She turns and exits the station, then begins her slow descent to the waiting Prius. On her way, she glances down the deserted street and recognizes the all too familiar garnishments of small-town America. The county courthouse, chamber of commerce, and sheriff’s office were all cookie-cut block buildings, like a facade of an old 50's movie, neatly, and conveniently, aligned on the street she now walks . Her mind wonders back to West Virginia and the small town where she grew up. “Very similar to this place”, she thinks. “But then I guess they all look more or less the same”. She can’t help but notice the one thing missing – the “Mainstreet Gym”.

---

Murder in a Small Town: 30 Years Later

30 Years Later

Being the new kid on the block seems to be a matter of routine for Jessica. Even though she had won her hard-earned promotion to detective, it also came with an unexpected transfer to “Mayberry”. But the captain is probably right on this point. Being away from a bad situation right now is probably the best thing for her. Her mind flashes back to the crude behavior perpetrated against her by two of the officers she worked with in Cleveland and the sexual harassment complaint she had filed against them. Now Internal Affairs was involved, and it wasn’t looking good for her coworkers.  Although not entirely thrilled at the prospect of solving cold-cases out in the sticks, she is willing to temporarily give up her big city life, her cozy one-bedroom apartment on the lake, and her friends while the investigation moves forward. She thinks she is being punished. Cold-case files? Really? Sounds like a documentary show on television. These cases are most probably cold for a reason. “But I guess if I can prove myself here, I can still make Chief before my thirtieth birthday”, she says out loud.

Jessica’s mind wonders as she drives and thinks about the forensic tools available for use in crime solving these days. The technology is so much better today than they were thirty years ago. Remembering a recent workshop from her precinct about “touch DNA” sampling and how it can be used to extract DNA from something that was just touched by a suspect, Jessica smiles. “It’s a good time to be alive!” she says enthusiastically. Just now the only radio station she can pick up begins playing one of her Dad’s favorite bands from the 80s, “Survivor”. She knows this song. “Me and Dad use to listen to this all the time when I was little”. She stomps her foot into the accelerator, the Prius hums, and she begins singing along…  “It's the eye of the tiger, it's the thrill of the fight. Risin' up to the challenge of our rival And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night, And he's watchin' us all with the eye of the tiger…  

Murder in a Small Town: Prologue

Prologue

Hearing noises in the attic again is quite unnerving for Carl. He’s lived in this old house with his wife for over 50 years and knows the difference between settling and “unsettling”. He folds the creaky ladder down from its compartment on the ceiling and, with lantern in hand, slowly creeps up until his head is above the attic floor. Holding the lantern high over his head to illuminate the inky blackness, he sees nothing out of place or anything scurrying about. Of course, the sounds he thought he heard were much heavier than that of a small rodent. This just adds to the mystery of the footprints he found in the powdered snow leading to his barn a few days ago, the page from the Milwaukee Journal in his yard, and the missing house keys. Things were just not adding up Still, the rafters were old and maybe, like all of us, they were protesting their age.

The next day Carl spots his neighbor, Archie, from across the field and motions him over to talk. Archie, as well as the entire town of Lancaster, is aware of Carl’s history and doesn’t really want anything to do with him but decides to find out what he wants. The two men converge at a barbed wire fence that separates their properties. It’s December and cold in central Wisconsin. 
“Hey, what’s going on?” asks Carl. 

“Not much, just trying to get these cows fed before the snow starts falling again”, remarks Archie. “What’s going on with you”?

“Well, I was just going to ask you if you’ve noticed anything weird going on around your place?” Carl asks.

“No, nothing really to speak of. There was a couple of chickens that have wondered off somewhere. Coyotes probably got them by now, though”, says Archie. “But, other than that, really nothing else. Why”?

“Well, there’s been some strange stuff going on at my place for sure. It might be nothing, but it’s kinda got me spooked”.

“Like what?” inquires Archie.

“For one thing I noticed a set of footprints in the snow leading to my barn the other day,” explains Carl.

“Just one set”. “There’s always someone off the highway coming in to keep warm for a night while traveling”.

“Yeah, I know”, says Carl. “But the weird part is that there aren’t any footprints leading away from it. It’s like they’re still there”.

“That is weird”, says Archie. Did you look through the barn to see if you could find anything?”.

“Well, of course I did!” exclaims Carl. “Couldn’t find anything in the barn. No clothes, not a place where anyone would bed down, or nothing. No sign at all”.

“Well, I’ll keep my eyes peeled and let you know if I see anything”, says Archie. He turns and starts walking away, but Carl calls after him,

 “Then there’s the noises in the attic, the missing house keys, the newspaper…”, Carl says raising his voice.

“I’ve got to get back to the house Carl, says Archie as he quickens his tempo. “I’ve got a heifer getting’ ready to calf and I need to be there. Like I say, I’ll keep a look out and let you know if I see anything”. Archie is barely audible as he disappears across the field.

“It’s just really weird”, Carl says to himself, shakes his head, and starts the trek of the half mile back to his own livestock.

Three days later the mail carrier notices that none of the mail for the Hansens has been removed from their mailbox. The farm looks eerily quiet and he decides to notify the Lancaster Sheriff’s department.

The Meaning of Life

We have arrived at our destination. 

Fresh air caresses the water and a gentle breeze transmits waves of nourishment onto the eager soil. The majestic Heron and Sand Crane stand as silent sentinels to this gateway of life. They flap and squawk vociferously, heralding our approach; their voices startling and pterodactyl-ish. Graceful black and white geese bob and weave as they glide effortlessly across the surface. Nimble scissortail-flycatchers perform aerial acrobatics for us. They dart and swoop in a display of white, black and umber in an effort to secure their six-legged morsels. Their “V” tails displayed proudly. Occasionally, dark-furred mink - ever watchful - scurry and play tag in and among the rocks. The clean-up crew trace circles overhead and squat ominously in trees, constantly scanning their surroundings for scraps of the dying, dead, and decayed. The sun slides lower in the sky and its red-orange radiance is framed sublimely by the trees dressed in magnificent early fall foliage. Our walk is complete. Regretfully we travel back to the city with a promise to return soon

                                                                                               ~John Wallis 2019~

Nature

Red-orange, ochre, yellow-green and ruddy wine.

Wind, sky, fresh air and clear, blue water,

My muses, my sisters, my brothers.

Hiking,

Biking,

Swimming,

Canoeing,

Give purpose and significance to life’s adventures.

Gritty streets,

Crowded,

Noisy,

Repugnant and loud!

Pushing, shoving, and moving!

Undulating, Dead Sea of appendages; wasted in the crowd.

Closed-in,

Smothered

and

Stifled.

Shortness of breath, wheezing, trouble breathing,

Smog-choked, coughing and breathless,

Need to get away. Have to get away.

Retreat to a more primitive space

of wilderness streams, trees, and natural lakes.

To the bowels of the Great White I go pleading,

To regain my sense of lost sanity

Creep toward a glimpse of Nirvana,

Images in the headlights,

run,

bolt

and jump away deftly,

Eyes glowing back.

Now honeysuckle and pine fill the air.

Sweet, dew covered earth surrounds me.

H  e  a  r  t  b  e  a  t     s  l  o  w  s

Sound of a camera shutter, a low-pitched, digital whine.

The only thing moving - nature - living and sublime,

                                              

                                                                                          John Wallis 2019

I Didn't Want to Die

I Didn’t Want to Die

I didn’t want to die.

There are monsters in this world.

No lie.

Demons with youthful faces

and trendy haircuts.

Abbreviated bodies

that look just like us.

Reason for aggression?

A lopsided walk?

A facial expression?

Battlezone school-

Stalked,

Ridiculed,

and abused.

Acrid emotional distress.

Social outcast, depressed.

Transferred hysterical, stress – impetuous.

Screaming!

Crying out!

Crying!

Sobbing.

Nobody listens.

Try to fit in. Make a few friends,

but none of the popular crowd

Persecuted by the entitled and proud.

Too happy? Smile too much?

Not wearing the right clothes?

Get a life NERD!

You GEEK!

You FREAK!

MIGHT AS WELL DIE!

Adult indifference, no place to run, no face to hide.

Confrontation,

Escalation,

 Premeditation,

Aggression to decimation.

Videotape goes viral.

Everyone in denial.

Unfortunate ending

to a more common case.

Brain grossly hemorrhaged,

copiously, into subarachnoid space.

One teen dead,

the headlines read.

Sucker-punched at school,

causing his brain to bleed.

Snuffed potential – unrealized dreams,

My name is Diego and I was just 13.

                                                                                                    John Wallis 2019