Dennis Larsen - With Cruel Intent

“Have you noticed anything unusual with him the past couple of weeks,” the officer inquired.

“No, everybody here just minds their own business, can’t even remember the last time I talked to him. I’ve seen him come and go a little bit in his van but that’s about it.”

“Do you know if he owns a motorcycle?”

“Can’t say that he does, but I could be wrong. Almost everybody's got a quad though, like those over there,” he said, pointing to some knobby tired, four wheeled vehicles, sitting on a trailer on the side of the lot.

“So I’ve heard,” she replied.

“Could you give me his name so I can follow through on some of this?” she asked.

“Sure, it’s Lester…a, honey, what is his last name? It’s slipped my mind,” he said, speaking to his wife.

“Cummings,” his wife said.

“Yeah, that’s it, Cummings, Lester Cummings. Nice enough guy, just likes to be left alone. I heard him doing a bunch of shooting the other day, over by the river. Think he’s got a range over there. His dad was quite a shot.”

“Thanks, you’ve been helpful, hope you enjoy the rest of your day. Come on Otis, let’s get a move on.”

There was no one home at the next place, but the neighbors had indicated that they were a retired couple that leased out their land and spent a lot of time visiting their extended family. Another quarter of a mile down the road the pair came to a section of the ditch bank that was particularly overgrown, a mailbox stood at the end of the dirt drive, weeds as tall as the support. Well before reaching the drive, Otis jerked free of the leash and charged the mailbox, barking and growling, going crazy with the scent around the site.

“What you got boy?” the handler said, taking the leash and leading him down the drive to the small country home. Otis continued smelling the ground before them, weaving side to side, yipping, and straining the leather strap that Deputy Guest had wrapped around her hand. An older model, silver van, sat at the end of the drive, next to the side of the house. The grass in the front area had turned to seed, and what had survived, was long, and interspersed with dandelions and other weeds. Otis sniffed his way around the van and returned to Natalie at the front door.

Lester had heard the commotion coming up the drive and closed the bookshelf, putting his 9mm in the back waistband of his pants, a light jacket hiding it from view. From the bathroom, he peered through the narrow opening in the curtains, to see the officer approaching the front door. If they had anything on him they would have responded in force, not a lone officer with a canine. He stood, sure she couldn’t tell he was watching her, and waited to see what she would do. The dog was acting more overly excited than Lester would have liked to see, he’d never hurt a dog before and didn’t know if he had the will to do it. The doorbell rang. Lester saw it coming as she raised her hand to the bell, but it still startled him when the buzzer sounded in the hallway outside the bathroom. He ignored it, both the second and third time she rang it as well.

She finally gave up and he could see her moving to the side of the home. He couldn’t let her near the barn but he was sure he’d closed it when he’d stashed the bike after his hell-bent ride. He moved to the back of the house and found a vantage point where he could see what she was up to. The dog led her down the trail, away from the barn, but to the fishing shed and the gun range. When she was out of sight, he pulled the gun from his pants, slid the action back, taking a shell from the magazine and loading it into the chamber, then returned it to the small of his back.

He exited the back door and trotted down the path to the shed.

“Hey, can I help you? What’s up?” he shouted, making them aware of his arrival. “Is there something I can help you with? This is private property back here.”

Deputy Guest saw him approaching and took a firm grip on Otis, with the quick release just under her thumb. “Mr. Cummings?” Otis growled and barked at the stranger.

“Yeah, I’m Lester Cummings, what’s going on?”

“I rang your doorbell a couple of times, what took you?”

“I was in the bathroom, is that a crime? Thought it was the neighbor kids playing a joke or something.”

“Neighbors said you were down here doing some shooting yesterday. Can I ask why?” she asked, watching his eyes carefully.

“I come down here a couple of times a week and shoot a bit, got a 9mm my daddy left me that I enjoy shooting cans with,” he said, pointing at the refuse of perforated cans lying on the ground nearby.

“I see. Well, we’re just doing some interviews trying to get some leads on the recent rash of break-ins near the base and thought we’d see if anybody over this way could help out. We think our man is a farmer, or country raised, and rides a motorcycle,” again, looking at his eyes as she spoke. “You don’t happen to have a bike do you?”

“Wish I did. Been saving up to buy a four-wheeler, almost everybody round here's got one, looks like they’d be fun. But, naw, never had much use for a motorcycle,” he lied.

“Do you mind if I look around a little bit. My dog here is acting a little jumpy and I’d like to see why,” she pressed her luck.

Lester put his hand on his hip and turned, blocking the view of the other hand, in case he had to quickly draw the 9mm and fire. “Go ahead, this is where I do my shooting and fishing, hence the shed. Everything else is up in the barn, although not much there anymore since I sold the farm, just the lawnmower and a few tools.”

“Thanks, appreciate it. Do you know anybody around that does ride a dirt bike? A yellow one?”

“Can’t say that I do, but I’ll keep my eyes open for ya’ll,” he again lied.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll just let Otis do some snooping, and I’d appreciate it if you’d return to your home and I’ll talk to you there in a moment.”

“Oh sure, no problem.” He turned and walked back to the house, sat on the back porch and waited.

A short time later the officer and dog returned up the path and approached Lester.

“Officer, I’ve got an appointment in town and need to be on my way. Is there anything else I can do for you before you have to leave?” The pressure of the gun made him feel powerful and able to dominate the situation.

“I’d like to take a look in the house, and barn as well, if that’s okay with you.”

“Actually, it’s not. I do have to run and I just don’t have time to show you around everywhere, perhaps you could make an appointment and we could do it in the next day or two.”

She knew he was up to something and had been lying from the minute she met him, but was unsure of what to make of his behavior. “So let me get this straight. You are denying me access to your house and barn, is that correct?”

“Don’t you have to have a warrant or something? I mean this is private property and you can’t just go around searching people’s homes without some kind of an affidavit. Isn’t that right?” he said, once again moving his hand to his waistline.

“You are right there, but if you give me verbal permission we can avoid the hassle of a warrant, so if you’ll just consent to that I’ll take a look in the barn.” She took a couple of steps towards the barn.

Lester jumped from his position on the porch and cut her off. Otis lurched at him, growling and barking. Natalie restrained him but did put her hand on her service weapon.

“Whoa, whoa take it easy. I think I’m within my rights to ask you to leave if you don’t have a warrant. I’ve been cooperative and let’s leave it at that. If you want to come back later with a warrant, I’d be happy to let you look in every nook and cranny there is, but not without that warrant. This is my private stuff and you are violating my privacy, so I’m going to ask you to leave one more time.”