“Yes.”
“Good.” I leaned over and kissed her on the head, then I checked my watch. “Gotta go now, but I’m not leaving until I see those feet on the floor.” Then I stood up and walked over to the doorway. “Come on now. You can do it.”
Another groan, and then she said, “Fine.” Sammy pulled her sheets down and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Good enough?”
I shook my head. “Nope.” I smiled. “Need to see you standing on the floor and walking in the general direction of the bathroom or your dresser.”
“Dad.” Sammy was exasperated, but was also milking it a little now, enjoying the attention. “OK.” She stood fully, took a few steps away from her bed, and held out her arms. “Happy?”
I laughed. “Totally.”
Castlewood State Park was just over forty minutes outside the city, depending on traffic. It was easy to see the park’s large trees and a distant rolling hill from Highway 44, but it took some effort to figure out how to get to it. The interstate, built for trucks, speed, and sprawl, offered no logical exit ramp for the park, and then, once I’d left the highway, the roads followed the terrain rather than anything resembling a logical grid.
At last I drove in a large loop over the Meramec River to Big Bend Road, then wound back along Kiefer Creek to the meeting site, where the road ended in a large trailhead parking lot. Police had put up a wooden barricade at the entrance. A highway patrolman stood in front.
The Highway Patrol is the most formal of all law enforcement agencies. He addressed me as sir. He confirmed my identity and reason for being there, then pulled the barricade aside.
Schmitty and three cops stood around a picnic table examining something. As I approached, Schmitty noticed and gestured for me to join them. I squeezed between him and one of the other officers and looked down. There was a large map of the park. It had two marks. The first mark was the location of the original crime scene. Somebody had written the number nine next to it, representing the number of bodies recovered, including Devon Walker’s.
The second mark was still in the park but across the river, not too far from where we now stood. There was no number written next to this mark yet.
“How many?” I asked.
They turned. No one answered my question, deferring to Schmitty.
“Three more, at least.” Schmitty put his hand on my shoulder. “Justin Glass, let me introduce you to officers Johnson, Cole, and Bilcik.”
“Morning.” I nodded. “Sorry to hear about this.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Schmitty said, gesturing for me to follow him away from the others. He walked toward the trailhead and then onto a path leading into the woods. “Techs are still working the scene. They think that they’ve located another body, so that would bring it up to four, but nobody knows whether this site is as compact as the other one or whether the other bone fragments belong to a deer or another animal.”
I followed him farther into a grove of oak and hickory, and Schmitty continued. “When I heard about the first one being found by the construction crew, I was hoping it was an old, unmarked native gravesite—not too uncommon around the river—but when they pulled the second and third one up, figured it wasn’t a coincidence, not with how close we are to the other site.” Schmitty stopped when we got to a line of yellow police tape. “Then, when I saw the bodies”—he took a breath and spoke on the long exhale—“knew for sure it was the same deal.”
“Hands behind the back with plastic ties.”
Schmitty pointed at me. “Bingo.”
We ducked under the police tape, and he led me farther into the woods. “Little farther.” Schmitty pointed. “Construction guys were building a couple yurts out here. Kind of a new thing. Not quite camping, but not as expensive as the traditional cabins, either. Construction crews were digging holes for the footings and a pit toilet. That’s when they found it.”
We entered a clearing. There was an ATV and a small trailer loaded with building materials, as well as a yellow Bobcat excavator. Two crime scene techs circled the site taking photographs, and I noticed a couple of mounds of dirt with little orange flags sticking up.
“So this is a nice field trip and all,” I said, “and I mean no offense here, Schmitty, but why do I need to see all this?”
“Didn’t need you here only to see.” He put his hand on my shoulder and guided me over to the excavator. “I needed you here to talk.” Standing on the other side of the Bobcat was the Saint Louis chief of police, Max Wilson.
“Justin Glass,” Chief Wilson said, holding out his hand. “We haven’t met, but of course I know who you are. Thanks for coming.”
We shook. “Long way for me to come for a conversation.”
The chief shook his head. “Too many eyes and ears in the city.” Chief Wilson gave me a look. “You already know that.”
It was the way he held my eye that gave me pause. It was like he knew things. Maybe he was referring to Sammy, or maybe to me and the mayor, but the chief wasn’t going to say it. Perhaps it was all in my head—or maybe not.
“OK.” I put my hands on my hips. “You got me in the woods. Now what?”
“You know that family you talked with and got the DNA sample?”
“Deonna Villa?”
“That’s it.” Chief Wilson nodded. “Came back a match.”
Schmitty picked up where Chief Wilson was headed. “Now with these.” He looked at the mounds of dirt and orange flags. “It’ll hit the news again, and you’ll have more families coming out of the woodwork. I want to get DNA swabs of everybody who’s come to your door, even the ones that you reject.”
“Why don’t you get them yourself?”
“Because they’re not coming to us. They’re still coming to you,” Schmitty said.
“They trust you,” added Chief Wilson. “I saw the spreadsheet. It was nice work. Better than anything we’ve got.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “But I don’t have the time to do your job.” A dozen kids had disappeared, and the police hadn’t lifted a finger. Even now I wasn’t sure what they were doing, except hoping that people would get tired of the story and forget it. “Don’t get me wrong,” I said. “My heart breaks for these families, but I need paying work. I’ve already sunk too much into this.”
“Come on,” Schmitty said. “It’ll be good for you. A favor for us.”
“A favor, huh?” I looked at them, skeptical. “More like favors, plural, and I want to know if you have any other suspects besides Jimmy Poles.”
“You know, officially, I can’t tell you that.” Chief Wilson looked at Schmitty and then back at me. “But we still don’t have much.”
“We got a dozen dead kids, and you don’t have much.” The challenge went unanswered. “So how hard are you actually looking?”