The Coffin Maker

Chapter 3

Sheriff Reginald Petersen anticipated a restful day at home to recover from impacted wisdom teeth surgery. Instead, a call from his deputy late the previous evening had him in his office in the Hennepin County Government Center regarding a young woman reported missing. Don Vito Corleone jokes abounded while Petersen struggled with the pain and swelling of the procedure and lightheadedness from prescribed codeine. He called for his inner circle and four coffee sipping law enforcement officers huddled around his desk.

"Okay, what have we got?" mumbled Petersen. Uncomfortable carrying the extra pounds he had added in recent months, he shifted his frame, palmed his forehead and ran a hand through uncombed hair. He clenched his jaw on a cotton wad because his mouth was still bleeding.

Deputy Arnie Balinski, a twenty-year veteran summarized the case. While Petersen listened he imagined the 'shit storm' that was to follow.

"Riley Pacocha, seventeen, five-foot five, medium length brown hair, 115 pounds, black sweats over a maroon and gray soccer uniform, last seen sometime between 8:05 p.m. and 8:20 p.m. walking from a soccer match with a blue backpack in Edina to meet her mother who left the game early to visit a friend. The mother is hysterical and being treated at Abbott Northwestern hospital. Simpson is there with the father and a younger daughter." Balinski slid a photo across the desk. Sheriff Petersen looked at it, thought about his daughters and his niece, and passed it along. The phone rang. He punched a button and a female voice from the outer office announced, "The mayor is on the line."

"Tell him I'm not in yet, Joyce." He pressed another button, looked up and asked, "Who's doing the linkages?"

"Baker."

"Anyone plug it into the database and the NCIC* Missing Person file?"

"Yep."

"What's the status on coordination?"

"Good. Williams at Edina knows what he's doing."

"Detectives?"

"Burmeister and Mulder."

Petersen was nodding approval when the phone rang again. He pressed a button and said, "Joyce, no calls!"

"It's Edmond Crowley," said Joyce.

"Oh? Okay, I'll take it, but no more." Petersen picked up the receiver. "Edmond? ...Yes...Yes...I see...I assure you we are on it. Yes...No...Mm hmm, I understand." He hung up and pressed the intercom button.

"Joyce, get me the new Special Agent at the FBI field office. What was her name?"

"Wu."

"Thanks, buzz when you have her." Petersen looked up.

"What does Crowley want boss?"

"The FBI."

"That's your call Reg, not his."

"He heavily supported my re-election campaign," reminded Petersen.

"How come he's on this so fast?"

"Nobody is better plugged in than his attorney. He probably learned about it before we did."

"What does Crowley care? He's retired."

"Look Arnie, Crowley has put more offenders behind bars than any other Minnesota judge. He and his wife pump millions into the community. Besides, I was going to call the feds myself," he said, sensing the disbelief that filled the room. "Let's get back to the briefing," urged Petersen, growing impatient. The Crowley call had put him in a worse mood. His jaw hurt badly. "Any witnesses?"

"A kid on a bike saw a guy with a dog."

"Did the kid give a description?"

"A small tri-color dog of the toy breeds, like a Lhasa Apso."

"Not the fucking dog, Arnie!" shouted Petersen who slammed his palm down loudly. This isn't the Best in Show at fucking Westminster! What about the guy?"

"The witness looked at the dog, Sheriff."

"Any vehicle?" Petersen stuck his finger in his mouth and repositioned the cotton batten. He watched his deputy shake his head in response.

"Tell me again, why was she walking?" He listened while the deputy gave another account of the known facts. "Do you think it's random?" The others shrugged. "If we find her in a coffin in a few days, we're fucked. It's probably why the mayor called."

The phone buzzed and Joyce came on to say Special Agent Wu was on the line. Petersen waved the others out of his office. He said to Arnie, "Do you think you could find me some Jell-O or some clear broth? I haven't eaten anything since lunch yesterday and I'm fucking starving." He cleared his throat, pressed a button and spoke into the phone, "Hello, Ms. Wu. Thanks for holding. This is Sheriff Petersen."

*National Crime Information Center