Dennis Larsen - With Cruel Intent

“Officer Guest, Sheriff Lupo here, where are you and what have you found?”

“We’re about half a mile northwest of your location moving through some fields that lie between some of the neighborhoods over here. It looks like he didn’t take a straight line back to his vehicle but he definitely avoided any lighted areas and did not come close to any other houses. Kept to the tracks, then fields, at some point he’s got to hit the blacktop, but not yet. We’ll keep you posted,” the officer said, trying to both run with Otis and talk into her shoulder microphone at the same time.

“You do that, if nothing turns up return to the office and issue a verbal report for me before you do your written,” he instructed.

“Affirmative, out,” she responded.

Once the house was processed the remaining units returned to their respective responsibilities and the search for evidence began in earnest. The Sheriff, as the head of the department, now had some difficult decisions to make. The processing of a crime scene can get expensive very quickly. Anything sent to the crime lab had a substantial bill associated with it, as well as, slowing down other investigations that may prove to be more important. On the surface, this and the previous B amp;E with Thelma, seemed harmless really, nothing taken, no one hurt, no damage to property, just seemed to be geared at scaring someone, and not at the time, but after the perp was safely away. Still something in the back of his mind told him there was something more to it than that, especially after looking at the malevolent picture of the thief eating his cereal. Weighing his alternatives he had his secretary call the press and arrange for a press conference the next morning, followed by a meeting of all pertinent officers, tech support, forensics and others that may have any impact on the investigation, to bring him up to speed on the crime. Based on that information and his gut feeling he would need to decide if it should be pursued beyond the normal bounds of a routine B amp;E.

The press conference had gone as well as he had expected, always had to be at least one reporter that tried to press for more information than they were willing to give. “Jackass,” he thought, thinking back on the exchange. He’d returned to his office long enough to get a fresh cup of coffee and allow a few minutes for all those invited to the investigative review meeting to make their way to the conference room. Sitting at his desk, a notepad resting before him, Angelo organized his thoughts and jotted down details he wanted to discuss with the group. Leaning back in the leather chair, he looked at the pictures arrayed on the wall, his father in uniform, medals decorating his left breast. Another of his wife and two children taken when they were much younger, but it still filled his large chest with pride when he recognized how blessed he had been. He understood that nothing was more important than family and he took his oath to protect all families within his jurisdiction as a sacred covenant. Once he was confident that everyone was assembled, he checked to make sure the picture taken from the Criddle home was in his shirt pocket, picked up his coffee mug, the notepad, and headed to the meeting.

Entering the room, a respectful silence replaced what was, a few moments ago, a circus atmosphere. Approximately 20 people were scattered around the long table that extended down the center of the room. Most stood, but a few were seated around the table, pens at the ready. Some were easily recognizable as troopers, uniforms with hats, but many were dressed much more casual, the support staff and forensics people. This was his extended family, the men and women that he loved to serve with, he knew within his heart that he would take a bullet for any of them, and they for him, if circumstances dictated. The Sheriff’s Department was a close knit, cohesive unit that had fused together as one over the past 10 years of his leadership, they knew he expected the best from each of them and wouldn’t tolerate bullshit of any kind. He both demanded and gave respect and praise when it was worthy. The members of the department anxiously awaited his direction.

“Thank ya’ll for coming,” he began. “We are going to take some time today to review both the cases that have fallen into our laps over the past couple of weeks involving these single ladies,” he said, pointing to the pictures of Thelma Riddle and Katherine Criddle that were thumb tacked up on a rollaway display. “I’d like to begin with what I know you are all thinking, Riddle and Criddle. Is this a joke or a random occurrence? Is he selecting his victims based on some strange last name comparison? You’ll note I said individual rather than group, I believe this to be the work of one man based on the evidence that I’ve seen. Anyone think otherwise?” he asked the group. No one offered an alternative theory. “Good, so back to the names, any thoughts?”

“Sheriff, we did some checking yesterday afternoon on the backgrounds of both of the victims. There is absolutely nothing that links them. They don’t know each other, never met, don’t attend the same church, don’t shop at the same stores, have different circle of friends. There was nothing we could find, at least to date, other than the fact that they live within a few miles of each other and that could just be random as well,” one of the investigators offered.

“Good. I’ve done some thinking on this myself and I think we need to consider a couple more things. Both women were single, had no steady boyfriends, no children, no pets, owned their own homes, we shouldn’t overlook the obvious just because they didn’t know one another. Does anyone else have any ideas on how he selected these two women? Did he just go to the phonebook and randomly pick these locations or did he pick the women first?” the Sheriff stood, waiting for a reply.

An answer came by way of the smallest person present, “I believe he must have a criteria that he’s sticking to. First, he picks a house based on the entry. Is it dark and secluded, does it have fairly easy access from the back without any other homes close by? Then once that satisfies him he does his homework on the victim. For what he wants to do he has to have lots of time, doesn’t want to be interrupted. I mean, for God’s sake, he sat down and ate a bowl of cereal in the woman’s kitchen while she slept in the next room. So no kids, no pets, no boyfriends, no unexpected surprises, no pesky neighbors and he’s smart, real smart. He knows dogs too. He ran us around in circles for the better part of two hours yesterday trying to get old Otis to lose his scent, and he finally succeeded, but we estimate that he parked the car within a three-mile radius, probably in an alley somewhere. We have plans to go do some interviews this afternoon with some of the late night establishments in that northwest quadrant. If that’s okay with you Sheriff?" Officer Guest requested.

He liked her eagerness. “Yup, do what ya gotta do. I think, Natalie here, is right. The only way I see the two names as a common denominator is, if in fact, these are total pranks done by somebody with a sick sense of humor. I’d like the public to believe that for now. But as far as we are concerned we are going to move ahead with the assumption that there is something more sinister at work here. Officer Guest mentioned the photo, has everyone seen it?” Several of the officers indicated that they had not, so Angelo passed it around. “Much like the first photo, same camera it’s been confirmed, less of his face visible this time around, but the portion showing is much more detailed due to the better lighting. He was careful to demonstrate for us what he was up to. I expect that’s some power trip or some kind of a taunt directed at us. Note the black face paint, possible ex-military or survivalist, somebody check that angle. Any more thoughts on how or why he’s choosing these victims?” No one spoke up.