A gathering storm, p.2
A Gathering Storm, page 2
“Well, come in and sit down.” Vanessa retreated into the living room, with Rudy by her side. The officers followed. A few paper plates, napkins, and plastic cups lay on the coffee table, several side tables, and one, large folding table in the otherwise neat, carpeted room; both the carpeting and the painted walls were forest green. “We had family and friends over yesterday. My sons and nephew are upstairs asleep. My sister-in-law Agatha is with them.”
“Agatha Raines, the councilwoman,” Trask observed, as she and Weiss sat down.
“That’s right,” Rudy said.
Lieutenant Weiss took out a small, rectangular device. “Is it okay if we record our conversation?”
Vanessa nodded.
“Could you please respond verbally?”
“Yes, recording is okay.”
“Wonderful.” Weiss was in his mid-twenties, with blond hair, the remnants of a pockmarked complexion, and full lips that tended to purse when he was concentrating, as he was now. He spoke a few introductory words into the recorder and then looked at Vanessa. “Please tell me your brother’s—”
“Husband,” she corrected.
“…husband’s name.”
“I did that over the phone.”
“Could you please do so again, for the recording?”
“Of course. My husband is Jesse Elgin Burrell. He is forty-two years old.”
“Height? Weight?”
“Umm. Five ten. 195.” She gave a grim smile. “He would say 190.”
“Race?”
“African American.”
“Do you have a photo of your husband?”
Vanessa stood up and went to an end table at the far end of the couch, picked out a matted print from several family photos, and returned with it. “This is a picture from this past summer, with myself and our two boys, William and Andrew.”
Rudy gave a wan smile. “Buster and Drew.”
Officer Trask leaned forward, and looked at the photo. “Where was your husband last seen?” She was a fit woman in her early thirties, with the chiseled, fat-free features of a body builder, short, curly red-brown hair and a habit of clearing her throat before speaking.
“Here,” Vanessa answered.
“As in this room?”
“Well, no.” She stopped, thought a moment. “Last I saw him, I was going to bed. We tucked the boys in upstairs—we try to do that together whenever possible. Then I went to bed, and he kissed me and came downstairs to watch sports with Rudy.”
Rudy nodded. “Switching back and forth between the Knicks and Sunday night football. But I went upstairs at the half. I have things to do tomorrow and I’m sure our little one will be up during the night. He always is, and I watch him in the morning, when Ags is at the library.”
“That would be Agatha,” Weiss confirmed. “She’s a librarian here in town?”
Rudy nodded.
“Anyway,” Vanessa continued, “I was going to bed after tucking the boys in, and Jess came in, kissed me, and said he was going back down to hang out with Rudy.”
“That’s right,” Rudy said. “He mentioned that we were out of Samuel Adams—that's the beer he drinks. We still had some Blue Moon, which is my beer, but he would have wanted Sam Adams.”
Vanessa gave a faint smile. “The boys have a running joke about which beer is better.”
“And if he was out of Sam Adams, he would likely go out for more, if it could be had on a Sunday night.”
“Well,” Vanessa said, “Seven Eleven…”
“They’d be open late,” Trask observed.
Rudy frowned. “I wish I’d’ve thought of it then, but we have Sam Adams bottles at the bar.” He shrugged. “Hindsight.”
Vanessa put a hand to her throat. “Does a person have to be missing for twenty-four hours to be considered a missing person?”
“Not necessarily,” Trask answered. “Did your husband suffer from any medical conditions?”
Rudy snorted a laugh. “Cavities. The man had serious teeth problems.” Returning to the moment, he stopped laughing.
“No, Officer. He did not,” Vanessa answered.
“Just a few more questions, Ms. Burrell,” Weiss said. “We’d like to know what he was wearing when last seen, whether he specifically said he was going out for beer, as opposed to going out to have a beer, and whether he might have contacted anyone before going.”
Trask nodded. “A simple misunderstanding could explain this.”
Rudy was shaking his head. “He just noticed we were out of beer.”
“He wouldn’t have gone to a bar—not with the kids and me here, and not without telling me.” Vanessa lightly stroked her throat with the tips of her fingers. “That’s just not something he would do. And there’s no one else who would have known he was going out, unless he called someone, and why would he have done that?”
“Okay,” Weiss said. “We still need hair and eye color, birthday, whether there’s anyplace you can think of he might have gone on the spur of the moment. Friends or other relatives who live in the area?”
“Especially given that he may have had a beer or two,” added Trask. “Anyone in the area he hadn’t seen in a while?”
Vanessa bit her lower lip. “His hair is dark brown. Eyes are green, but sometimes brown.” She paused, collecting herself. “Birthday is September 7th, 1989. And none of his friends live around here, and even if he had a lot to drink, he wouldn’t do that without talking to me. In fact, he wouldn’t do that at all—especially if he had been drinking. He never drives after drinking. Never.”
“I take it you’ve called his cell.”
“Called and texted. Several times.” Vanessa pressed her lips together and looked into her lap, then up again at the officers. “You said it’s not necessarily true that a person has to be missing for twenty-four hours to be considered a so-called missing person, but I’ve also heard that if you don’t find them in the first twenty-four hours, there’s a good chance it’s too late.” Her voice broke. “How can both be true?”
Lieutenant Trask shook her head. “Neither is true. We know this is a difficult time, but please believe that we are and will be doing everything we can to find your husband. In the meantime, if you think of any place he might be or anyone he might have called, don’t hesitate to let us know. It’s only been a few hours.” She handed Vanessa a business card. “This card has my name, rank, command, and shield number, along with a number to call for any updates or if you learn anything that might be helpful.”
Vanessa took the card in a trembling hand and nodded.
“Is your husband active on social media?” Weiss asked.
“He has a Facebook page, but doesn’t really use it. Teachers are discouraged from using social media. Nothing else.”
“Where does he teach?” Trask asked.
“Beach City High. English.”
“Okay, we’ll have a look,” said Weiss.
“Can you think of any reason anyone might want to harm your husband?” asked Trask.
Vanessa didn’t hesitate before answering. “None.”
“Well, if anything else occurs to you,” Trask pointed to the card, “please don’t hesitate to call. As soon as we have any information, we’ll be in touch.”
“What will you do in the meantime?” Vanessa asked.
The officers looked at one another, then Lieutenant Trask answered. “We’ll reach out to local hospitals, put out a BOLO to our people—”
“BOLO?”
“Be on the lookout. And if he doesn’t turn up in the next few hours, we’ll send a press release to local papers with his photo, name, and last known whereabouts.”
• • •
Rudy closed the door behind the two police officers and turned to see his wife and his sister-in-law hugging and swaying as Vanessa sobbed.
“Maybe I’ll stay with the boys so you girls can be together.”
Agatha nodded, while Vanessa folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. “I’m not going to sleep until my Jesse’s back.” She pulled away from Agatha and began to pace the width of the living room as Rudy went upstairs. “We can’t let Liz know anything.”
Agatha started to say something, but Vanessa cut her off. “Or the boys.” She stopped pacing and looked around, then went to the kitchen table and opened a laptop lying on a short pile of newspapers and magazines. “Yours?”
“Yes,” said Agatha. “Password’s Samuel. Cap S.”
Vanessa opened the computer. “Maybe we go to Facebook now and post that he’s missing. We can go to the Beach City groups and moms’ groups…”
Agatha sat next to her and covered Vanessa’s hand with her own. “Why don’t we give it a little time? He’ll come back, or maybe the police—”
“Fuck time! And I’m not waiting for no police!”
Agatha held her palms up. “Okay. Okay. I understand.”
“No, you don’t. I love you, but you do not understand. Your man is upstairs with my boys and your little one, and my man is nowhere to be found.”
“Do you have any ideas about where—?”
“No!”
“Friends from work? Women from work?”
Vanessa’s features went slack. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
Agatha shrugged. “I’ll pretend I didn’t say it.”
Vanessa clasped Agatha’s hand and looked her in the eyes. “He didn’t have friends, especially women friends, because I was his best friend.” She caught herself. “Am his best friend. Am. Am!”
“Listen to me, Nessa.” Agatha continued to hold Vanessa’s hand. “Let’s make us a plan. We’ll brainstorm now, and we’ll execute—we’ll do it in the morning. Rudy will see to the boys at least until the early afternoon, and I can take the day off. Maybe by then, he’ll be back, apologizing for wherever he’s been.”
“And what he’s put me through!” Vanessa swallowed and nodded. “Okay, then. So, what’s the plan?”
Agatha spoke softly, but with a strength that comforted Vanessa, whose desperate mind was casting about for anything positive. “We’ll make a list of Facebook groups—moms’ groups, town groups, PTA and PTO groups, anything local or related to his interests—what were his interests?”
“Hooo.” Vanessa sat back and ran her hand through her hair. “He liked to eat, that’s for sure.”
“But he had plenty to eat here, right?”
Vanessa smiled, but only for a moment. “Seriously. The way Rudy barbecues!”
“What music does he like?”
“Different things. He likes T-Pain, Busta Rhymes, and Bone Thugs-N-Harmony. But he also loves old doo-wop and soul, like he sang with your mom at the party last night.”
Agatha smiled. “When he sings with Mama, they sound professional. So, can you get into his Facebook account and see what groups he’s in?”
Vanessa thought a moment then nodded. “I think so. I’d have to figure out his password, but knowing him, it’s probably Buster and Drew.”
“Or Giants, Yankees, Knicks.”
“Nah, he doesn’t care enough about sports. He likes those teams, but not for passwords.”
Agatha slid the computer so that it was in front of her and began typing notes.
Vanessa held up a finger. “You know what he liked? Cards.”
Agatha’s brows lifted in surprise. “Really?”
“Played poker twice a month in Rudy’s back room. Betcha didn’t know that.”
“I knew he had a game but not where it was or who was in it. I try not to think too much about it.” Agatha thought for a moment. “Something else we can do. While I don’t know who plays in Rude’s game, I can make some pretty good guesses, and these guys—if they don’t play in the game, I can guarantee they know who does. Maybe one or more of them will have something useful for us.”
Vanessa gave a quick nod. “Great. Let’s do it.”
Agatha sighed. “We can’t do it at 4:00 a.m. We made a good start with this list, and in the morning, we’ll do like we said and start executing.”
“That boy comes home without a good excuse, he’s gonna get some executin’!” Vanessa got up, went over to the couch, and sat down heavily with a long exhale. “Hoooh.” She snapped her fingers. “You know what else he loved? Astronomy!”
“Really? Jesse?”
“Mmhmm. He had an app you could point at the sky and it would overlay the names of the constellations. He looked at the sky with the boys all the time, and he talked to them about space and planets and stars, and then he’d talk about dreams and the things they could do if they really wanted to.” Her eyes welled up and her voice got very small. “Oh, Ags. Oh, Ags. I’m so scared.”
• • •
At 6:17 the following morning, Vanessa’s cell phone rang. She and Agatha were still in the living room, where she had drifted off for about an hour and was dreaming about a fishing trip she had taken with Jesse and the boys to a small lake in upstate New York just over a year ago. Buster had been barely a year old and too young to fish, but Andrew—he was still Andrew then—had caught two largemouth bass on worms with his father’s help, a fact that was never mentioned in the telling.
She fumbled with her phone. “Jess? Um, yes, it is. Oh my God. Oh my God! When? Where am I going?”
Agatha, who had been asleep in an easy chair, sat up. “Who is it? What’d they say?”
“Ags?” Rudy had descended to the second-from-the-bottom step on the stairs, and was rubbing his face between the thumb and fingers of his right hand, while his left tugged up the waist of his dark blue sweatpants.
From above came a child’s voice. “Daddy?”
The three grownups looked at one another.
“I’ll go back,” Rudy offered. “I’ll think of something to say.” Agatha gave a quick nod, and Rudy turned and headed back upstairs.
Vanessa let her cell phone slip to the floor. Tears slid down her cheeks, and her mouth opened in a silent scream. It was a long moment before she could speak. “Someone called the police about an unidentified male found in an alley who…who fits Jesse’s description. I have to go…go to the medical examiner’s office downtown to identify…shit, I forgot to get the address.” She bent forward, looking for her phone.
“I know where it is,” Agatha said. “I’m going with you.”
• • •
Thirty-five minutes later, Vanessa and Agatha entered a spare, tan lobby that might have been a doctor’s office waiting room, except for the lack of an office manager and the temperature, which was in the low sixties. The two women stood together, shifting uncertainly from one foot to the other, until a young woman in a gray skirt, sensible shoes, and a blue wool sweater peeked in.
“Who are you here to see?”
“The medical examiner?” Vanessa ventured. When the woman hesitated and frowned, Vanessa looked at Agatha, then back at the woman. “This is…the medical examiner’s office?
“Just a minute.” The woman disappeared. A few moments later, the same door opened and the same woman stepped back into the room. “I’m so sorry. I’m Margaret Blufeld, one of three forensic pathologists who work with Dr. Anderson. I’m afraid there’s been a miscommunication. You need to go to the police station and ask for Detective Paul Ganderson.”
“But I’m here to…try to identify my husband.”
“Mm hmm.” Ms. Blufeld was brusk and businesslike. “You can talk to Detective Ganderson about that.”
“But…you’re the medical examiner’s office…” Vanessa felt as though she were swimming in molasses. She couldn’t seem to hear, think, or speak correctly.
Blufeld gave three quick, emphatic nods. “Detective Ganderson. Beach City Police Station. I can give you directions…”
“No. We’ll be okay,” Agatha said, taking Vanessa’s arm to pull her out of the office.
Vanessa allowed herself to be led back out the front door and into the parking lot, where Agatha delivered her to the passenger’s side of Rudy and Agatha’s grey Hyundai Tucson. Ten minutes later, they were inside the police station. Agatha ran interference and quickly found Detective Ganderson at one of two desks whose fronts were pushed together. He stood and stepped to one side as Vanessa approached.
Detective Paul Ganderson was tall, had probably been bony in his youth, but now, in his late forties, he was gangly and loose-jointed. His dyed black hair had been slicked back with gel, still showing white in spots. He wore a cheap brown suit. He didn’t quite smile.
“Please have a seat. I won’t keep you, Ms. Burrell.”
“Mrs.—Mrs. Burrell.”
“Yes, of course.” He looked at Agatha and finally seemed to see her. He looked surprised. “Councilwoman Raines.”
“Detective.”
“Can I find you a chair?”
Agatha shook her head. “I’m fine standing.”
As Vanessa spoke, she was looking around the large, open room, which contained twelve desks that were pushed together in six pairs. “We were at the medical examiner’s office. I thought that was where you…”
Ganderson pulled an envelope from a file drawer at the base of his desk, opened it, and prepared to remove its contents. “I’m going to show you a few photos, Mrs. Burrell.” He emphasized the word Mrs., and Vanessa could feel rather than see Agatha stiffen beside her. “They may be difficult to look at, but it is important, so would you please tell me if you recognize this person.”
He laid three photos next to one another on the table, snapping each one down as if he were dealing cards.
Vanessa let out a little cry, like a small, bereft animal, and grabbed Agatha’s upper arm with both her hands for support. A sob escaped her lips.
“Mrs. Burrell?”
“Ohhhh—that’s, that’s, that’s Jesse. That’s my husband.”
Ganderson picked up a digital recorder that had apparently been running, though he had not mentioned that fact, and spoke into it. “Let the record show that at”—he looked at his watch—“8:41 a.m., Monday, August 18th, 2021, Mrs.…Victoria?”
“Vanessa.”
“Vanessa Burrell. Mrs.,” he emphasized again. “Mrs. Vanessa Burrell identified the deceased in ME photos 81621A, B and C as being her husband, Jesse Elbert—”
