Steven James - Opening Moves

Somehow, I can still smell the pine trees of the forest, still hear the terrible lullaby: “Daddy’s gonna buy you a looking glass.”

No, I hadn’t dreamt of Colleen Hayes, hadn’t dreamt of the terrible things that might have happened to her, that might have evoked the scream I heard on the phone. Instead, I’d dreamt of Jenna Natara, a seven-year-old girl who disappeared three years ago-one of the first homicide cases I worked as a detective. When she was found, forensics verified that she’d been buried alive in that sleeping bag after she’d been raped.

The lyrics to that lullaby, from a ripped-out page of a nursery rhyme book, were found tucked beneath Jenna’s pillow the night she was taken, after her parents discovered that she was missing. They’d been asleep in the room at the end of the hall when she was abducted.

We never caught Jenna’s killer, but the semen found on her underwear led me to tie that homicide to the abduction and murder of another girl, one in my hometown of Horicon, when I was a teenager. I was the one who’d found Mindy Wells’s body in the old tree house near the edge of the marsh just outside of town.

Suspects had surfaced and been cleared, nothing solid. No answers.

Those kinds of cases never go away.

Not when they involve children.

It sounds cliche, but the images do haunt you. Never let you go.

Not even in your dreams.

DAY 2

Monday, November 17

The Train Yard

At 6:58 a.m. I was doing pull-ups when I got the call.

A dockworker had found Colleen Hayes, unconscious, by a shipping container on one of Milwaukee’s piers jutting into Lake Michigan. Her hands had been cut off, heavy-duty plastic ties cinched tightly around her wrists to stop her from bleeding to death.

When I heard the news, I felt ready to crush the phone with my hand. As thankful as I was that Colleen was alive, I was also enraged that this had happened and I told myself that, unlike what had happened to me with the unsolved cases of Jenna Natara and Mindy Wells, I was not going to be haunted by the thought that the man who’d done this had gotten away. I have enough images for my nightmares, and so does the rest of the world-enough victims too.

As I hung up, I wondered if it was a good sign or a bad one that Colleen’s abductor had not carried out his threat to take her life. It might mean that he didn’t have the stomach for murder. Or it might mean that he enjoyed watching people suffer more than he enjoyed watching them die.

Evil.

Man’s inhumanity to man.

I wish I could claim that I’ve never understood how people could do the unspeakable things that I see in my cases, but there’s a part of me that does understand. I think everyone who’s honest about his own base, primal instincts has to, at least to some degree, see mirrored images of his own desires in the brutality of others.

It seems to be there, inside of us, from an early age. We don’t need to be taught to lie, or to be selfish or cruel or vindictive-we need to be taught how not to. And given the right circumstances, those impulses might rise, might blossom into something dark and uncontrollable.

One time, Taci asked me why I did what I did, why I’d chosen to be a homicide detective. At the time I didn’t think she was being completely serious, and I’d said lightly, “To catch the bad guys.”

“No, I’m not joking around, Pat.” Though her tone wasn’t sharp, I could tell she really was being serious. “There’s more. I know there is.”

Suddenly, unexpectedly, words came to me. Perhaps I’d heard them in a movie, or maybe they escaped from a private, reflective place I wasn’t even aware of before that moment, but they came, and they surprised me when they did: “To keep the demons at bay.”

“What demons?”

I’d gone to church as a child-my parents had taken me-but I’m not very religious. Still, the word “demons” was the one that’d come to mind. I had to think about what exactly I’d meant. “Um…I’m not sure. I just feel it sometimes-the darkness tugging at me. When the things you despise the most about human nature call to you, whisper for you to take a step closer to them. You know what I mean?”

She regarded me quietly. I saw love in her eyes, but also concern. “What things whisper to you, Pat?”

“Dark things.” I tried to say it in a tone that told her I preferred to be done with this topic.

But either she didn’t catch that, or she wasn’t ready to let the subject drop, because she said again, “What things, Pat?”

The things that lead us over the edge.

“The things I see in my cases.”

Even though I was closer to her emotionally than I’d ever been to anyone in my life, in that moment that was all I felt comfortable telling her. Her silence indicated to me that it might not have been enough. Or maybe it was too much.

The topic hadn’t come up again, but I sensed that the ghost of what I’d said was still there, had somehow crept between us, settled in, found a home, and wasn’t about to leave any time soon.

Colleen Hayes might have gotten a good look at her attacker, might be able to identify him, so before going to MPD headquarters for the nine o’clock briefing, the first order of business was paying her a visit at the Milwaukee Regional Medical Center.

I left a message for Taci that I’d be at the hospital, asked if she could meet up with me for a minute or two while I was there, then hopped into my car and took off.

Thinking about Taci.

About evil.

About keeping the demons at bay.

The Milwaukee Regional Medical Center lies situated on a sprawling campus now littered with autumn leaves. Only a few of the trees still clung to their leaves, but those had turned brown in the dreary fall and only served to help give the campus a tired, weary feel. It was the biggest academic health-care center in the state, with six different care facilities all on the same campus. I knew it well. I’d been here on a lot of my cases, as well as to see Taci.

Four things concerning the abduction and mutilation of Colleen Hayes were on my mind:

(1) I was profoundly thankful she was alive.

(2) Her kidnapper’s choice of the location in the alley showed that he (or they, if there was more than one) had some interest in or connection with Jeffrey Dahmer.

(3) It was impossible at this point to discern her attacker’s original intent, whether that was to kill or to maim-or possibly even to let Colleen go free.

(4) Based on the grisly and flagrant nature of the crime, I could hardly believe that this was the kidnapper’s first offense. The stark brutality of his mutilation of Colleen might actually help us narrow down the suspect pool, might actually help us find him.

Radar was waiting for me when I arrived at the hospital, and he met me at the front door. After asking me about my jaw and my wrenched finger, and after I assured him, honestly, that they were feeling remarkably better, he said, “It’s gonna be a cold one today.” His eyes were on the spreading slabs of gray clouds blanketing the sky.

“Yeah.”

“I wish it would just snow and be done with it.”

Wisconsin winters are long enough for me as it is. Besides, I’d been hoping to squeeze in a few more weekends of rock climbing at Devil’s Lake State Park over near Baraboo before the snow and ice settled in for the next four months. But I didn’t really want to talk to Radar about the weather. The attack on Colleen and the dark residue of my dreams were weighing too heavily on my mind.

“How is she?” I asked.

“Doing pretty well. Considering.” He paused. “At least physically.”