“Well,” Vern says slowly, “his attitude changed mostly. He became a happy young man. Had a spring in his step, I guess. He stopped drinking and running around.”
“He stopped seeing those loose English girls.” Sue spits out the words as if they’re a bad taste.
We fall silent. I sip the tea, everything they’ve told me about their son turning over in my head. “What about friends?”
“He used to run around with Clarence Underwood back in the day,” Vern tells me.
“They were best friends,” Sue agrees. “I never liked that boy. Had shifty eyes. But Leroy thought he was the berries.”
I pull out my notebook and write down the name, but I’m familiar with Clarence Underwood. Three years ago, I busted him on a charge of manufacturing methamphetamine, which was a first-degree felony because there were two children in the home at the time. Just two months ago, I received notification from the Ohio Department of Rehabilitation and Correction that Underwood was about to be released after a two-year stint in Mansfield. I did my due diligence as chief and stopped by his rental house to welcome him back. He wasn’t happy to see me, but the visit let him know I’ve got eyes on him. So far Underwood has kept his nose clean, but I’m certain the list of things he doesn’t get caught doing is a lot longer than the things we in law enforcement know about.
“Is it possible your son was involved in drugs?” I ask.
Vern harrumphs. “I hope you believe me when I tell you the answer to that is no.”
“Leroy might’ve been on the fast road for a while,” his wife adds, “but, Chief Burkholder, he had no interest in drugs.”
As a cop I know that even if Leroy didn’t partake in drugs himself, the lucrative nature of the business can be a powerful draw. “How long did your son work at Quality Implement?” I ask.
“He started as a stock boy when he was still in high school,” Vern replies. “Worked there up until the day he disappeared. He was always getting Employee of the Month, too. Putting in for overtime. Leroy was a hard worker.”
“Did he ever do any work at any of the local farms? Or did he ever work around livestock?” I ask. “Hogs?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, he worked down at that big hog operation in Coshocton for a few months. Place closed down six or seven years ago.” Vern looks at me oddly. “Why do you ask?”
“Just trying to gather as much background information as possible,” I tell him. “Was he friendly with anyone else who worked at the hog operation?”
“Not that I recall. He didn’t work there long. Didn’t like the conditions.”
I nod. “During those years when he was drinking and running around, did he have any favorite hangouts?”
“That wild place out on the highway.”
“The Brass Rail?”
“That’s the one.”
I nod, letting everything that had been said settle, and then I rise. “I appreciate your time, Mr. and Mrs. Nolt.”
They rise, both of them looking surprised that I’m leaving. “Chief Burkholder, we need to know. Is the body his?”
I meet their gazes head-on and hold them. “Without DNA testing or a match on that surgical plate, I can’t give you a definitive answer yet. I’m sorry; I know the waiting is extremely difficult.”
“We need to know,” Sue whispers. “Please.”
“If I had to guess? I’d say there’s a high probability it’s him,” I say quietly. “There are too many similarities. The broken arm. The timing of his disappearance. His age.” I shrug. “I wish I had a better answer for you.” The words feel pitifully inadequate.
“He is with God.” The old man looks down at his shoes. “Er hot en ewwerflissich lewe gfaahre.” He lived an abundant life.
“Don’t worry, Papa.” His wife pats his shoulder. “Once all the scientific stuff is done, we’ll bring him home.”
CHAPTER 11
There is a universal truth when it comes to violent crime: the deceased is never the only victim. The people who loved him—family members, friends, and lovers—continue to suffer long after the deed is done. With an unsolved missing person case, most loved ones never receive any kind of closure or find any semblance of peace again in their lifetimes. Too many take the grief, the loss, and that insidious lack of closure with them to the grave.