The Indiana Triangle

By Chris Vavra

Derrick Callum, a soldier turned private investigator, is asked to find Nathan Kron, who had been looking for a fresh start in Gallimard, a small town in Indiana. Callum goes on the trail and quickly learns the people supposedly close to him are trying to keep him from finding what really happened to him. Callum is determined to find out the truth and, if necessary, enact his own brand of justice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Vavra
• Release date: Apr 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463004319

Chris Vavra

Chris Vavra is a writer and journalist who has written on many different topics including video games, sports, engineering, science, and more. He is the author of one crime novel, The Indiana Triangle, with plans to release many more in the crime and mystery genre in the coming months with a particular focus on the darkness residing within ordinary people.

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The Indiana Triangle

A Novel By: Chris Vavra

Copyright © 2019 By: Chris Vavra

Smashwords Edition

Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed or perceived as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, places, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

One

My nine-thirty, a couple in their late forties to mid-fifties, arrived not long after I got settled in. The man, Jerry Kron, wore a blue denim jacket. His hair was slicked back to hide the growing bald spot. His pudgy face was sunken and worn from a lifetime of hard work that had given little in return. His wife, Diane, had an hourglass figure that was slowly turning round. She wore a tiny pair of glasses that looked too small for her to see anything. She clutched her purse like it was her most important possession.

They avoided eye contact with me. They didn’t want to be here. On some level, I didn’t blame them. They were here because they had no other choice. Needed someone in their corner because the usual channels had failed them. I existed as a stopgap.

They declined my offers of coffee or water and settled in. Jerry mumbled something about how grateful he was for my agreeing to see them this early.

I leaned back in the chair, waiting for them to make their pitch. Got the basics from them last night. What little I discovered through the Internet backed up what they said. Now it was time to hear the real thing. Though they didn’t realize it, this meeting would determine whether I agreed to take the case. Wasn’t about to let my sentimentality about their son being a former soldier like me drive my decision. This case had to be worth the time and effort. I didn’t need the money or the work, per se.

Spent a fair amount of time on the road as a self-employed private security consultant. My contacts from my time in the Army have given me a decent network of companies of all shapes and sizes and interests looking for guidance on answers they should know in the first place.

I operated out of a small office in downtown Willow Grove overlooking the train station. Had a good arrangement with the building manager, Ralph. I help him with small problems from time to time and he gives me a good deal on the rent.

The money from being a security consultant allowed me to focus on Private Justice Investigations, which is my real passion. Sometimes, it dovetailed with my security business, but it often existed as its own entity. This wasn’t one of those situations.

Jerry said, Our son, Nathan, was discharged from the Army two years ago. Served in Afghanistan and Iraq and other places, too. Never talked much about what he did. I mean, obviously they can’t because of security reasons.

Diane said, We could tell it had changed him. He talked less, smiled less, and… well, I’m sure you know.

Of course I knew. Every soldier worth their salt knew. Even if the experiences weren’t brutal or traumatic, the experience still left a significant impact.

About the only time he ever opened up was when he talked about the people he served with, Jerry said. How they watched each other’s backs and how close they were. That was when he acted like the Nathan we knew. Didn’t happen often, but we were always glad when it did.

Diane, still clutching the purse, said, He hadn’t worked much since he got home. Had some part-time jobs here and there, but nothing ever lasted. Never really said why. Sometimes it was because he wasn’t getting enough hours or because of problems with the manager.

You tried to press him, he would lash out and say we were smothering him, Jerry said.

He spent a lot of time in his room on the computer or watching TV and staring off into the distance. You’d think he was comatose except he was always playing with this fake double eagle coin, Diane said.

Jerry moved his fingers up and down to give me an example I didn’t need.

Diane said, We tried to get him to see someone, but he would always say something like ‘They don’t really care about me’ or ‘There’s nothing they need to do. I’m fine.’ But we could tell he wasn’t. Something was eating at him and we worried it was going to reach the point where he was going to do something to himself.

I often heard stories where it was the opposite. Soldiers looking for help and being turned away at every corner. Seemed in this case Nathan was letting his pride get in the way. Maybe he really believed nothing was wrong. Easy to think that when you can’t remember what it used to be like.

Jerry said, Three months ago, he told us he got a job. We were excited, but also curious because he hadn’t mentioned anything about it to us. And we were a little wary when he said he’d be moving to Indiana.

Seemed he had a friend from back then named Jason Stirig, Diane said. She spelled his last name out for me. Said he was going to be helping with logistics in a small warehouse. Company called Hallix Storing and Logistics. Said they were on the move as a company and planning to do big things. We didn’t question it too much because he really seemed happy for the first time in a while. Seemed more important than our concerns about him moving and settling down in a new place.

They looked at me as if they were expecting me to say something. I nodded for them to continue. Better to let them go and get everything out of their system.

So he moved out to Indiana and we were getting intermittent calls from him as he was getting himself settled, Jerry said. Sounded tired, but happy. Things seemed to be going well and he was getting along with Jason, who was also his roommate, and with the people he was meeting out there. It really sounded like he had turned a corner.

Diane said, Then three weeks ago we got a call from him. Said he wanted to come home for the weekend. Said he needed to unwind and think about some things. Didn’t say anything more. When I asked if anything was wrong, he said he wanted to have a long weekend with us. And I said that was fine. We were looking forward to seeing him again. She took a breath, looking pained. Told him I’d make him lasagna. That was his favorite.

Jerry patted her shoulder. He said to me, Friday comes round and he doesn’t show. Didn’t call or anything to cancel. Thinking maybe he went to a party or something. Saturday comes and nothing happens. No call or text. I tried to get a hold of him, but nothing. By Sunday, we were really starting to worry. So I called his friend Jason. Sounded hung over when he answered. I asked him where Nathan was and he said he thought he was with us. I told him he hadn’t shown up.

I said nothing.

I asked if Nathan had called or anything and he said no. Sounded nervous and agitated as I kept pressing him. He said he didn’t know anything and that everything had been fine. Working a lot, but he never went into specifics. I asked if he was going to call the cops because he was missing and he became very defensive. Tried saying maybe he went somewhere else for the weekend. After I told him I would call the cops, then he said he would handle it, like he was in a panic. But I told him not to bother. Said I was gonna do it.

What’s the name of the town? I said.

Jerry said, Gallimard. I shrugged. Jerry said, Never heard of it, either. Get on 65 and go south for about an hour and you’re right there.

It’s small. I mean, especially compared to a place like Willow Grove. Not even sure they could handle an investigation, but…

Then what happened?

This guy Pierce answered my call and promised to look into it. Called the next day and said he hadn’t found anything suspicious. No one suggested anything was wrong with him or his roommate or at work or anything like that. I asked if someone might know something and Pierce said, quote, ‘In this town, if something like what you suggesting happens, then everyone knows. Very tight-knit community, believe me.’

You called the sheriff’s office?

About as useless as the locals. Called me back a few days later and said they hadn’t found anything. I wasn’t satisfied with the lack of progress so we went down ourselves. And Pierce, who is a fat waste of space, said, quote, ‘Might have run off with a woman. Round here, that happens more than you think. Lot of people looking to get out.’ I told him our son wouldn’t do that and he says, ‘You would be amazed how often people turn out to be wrong about what they think they know about people.’

While he sounded like an ignorant jackass, he did have a point. Oftentimes, what you knew or thought you knew about the people closest to you didn’t cone close. Even with the people who were supposed to know you best, it wasn’t uncommon to give them a filtered version. Seemed to apply here. Nathan’s parents had a glimpse into the problem he was having, but they didn’t understand everything. What they did know about him didn’t mesh with the version of the story they had been presented with.

Which was why they were here.

You visited Gallimard?

We went down there last weekend, Jerry said. Talked with his roommate, but he wasn’t that helpful. Kept saying they were checking around, but he didn’t seem all that shaken up or upset about it.

Like we were ruining his weekend by being there or something, Diane said.

A real friend if I ever heard one. And nothing form the police or…

It’s an open case, but without any suspicion of foul play, it doesn’t seem to be high on the priority list, Diane said.

Too busy dealing with junkies OD’ing, I said, recalling a story I’d read on one of the local sites.

Jerry looked at me. "No, never. He would never touch that stuff. Never."

Known a lot of good people go down that road, I said. They did it because they felt it was the only way they could escape from their problem. Some drink, some shoot up, but it’s all the same. They can’t deal with the pain and they’re looking for anything to take it away for a little while.

Jerry still looked upset by the insinuation. He wasn’t using while he was living with us. He couldn’t have. We would’ve found out. We were keeping a close eye on him.

More than likely. Physical signs alone would have led them in that direction. Behavioral changes, too. And it did seem like Jerry and Diane knew enough about their son to put two and two together.

So you want me to find out what happened?

Think his friend might be knowing more than he’s letting on, Jerry said. "At least, that’s what we think. And if not him, then someone they knew,"

Seems insane he could just up and leave without anyone knowing, Diane said.

I nodded. I’ll visit Gallimard and see what more I can dig up, but I can’t promise anything. For all I know, these country bumpkins are right for once and he decided to just leave. Might not be the most sensible choice—especially leaving you in the dark—but he’s an adult and it’s not illegal. But I think, based on what you’ve told me, there is something else at play here.

Thank you, Jerry said. Means a lot to us.

One last question crossed my mind as they got up. Who recommended you to me in the first place? Private Justice Investigations isn’t exactly in the phone book.

Our friend Nicholas, Diane said. Well, really, Nathan’s friend from back in elementary school. He said you helped him with his problem.

Indeed I did. Not much of a problem, but I felt it was worth a few hours of my time to resolve it since he was a former soldier.

I said, I’ll have the contract printed out, but there’s nothing in there you don’t already know. Before we do this, is there anything else I need to know?

Just find him, Jerry said. Don’t care what it takes.

After they signed the documents, I shook their hands to make it official. We’ll be in touch.

Diane’s hands clasped over mine. Thank you, Mr. Callum.

I smiled, feeling a little embarrassed by the honorific title. Call me Derrick. Still made me uneasy being called Mister. Felt like it belonged to someone older than me. I wasn’t even close to a mid-life crisis. Had at least another decade before I got there.

Nicholas sang your praises when we talked to him, Diane said. Hopefully you can give us some clarity on whatever happened.

Hoping he didn’t just run off, Jerry said. But given the other choices, I think I’d almost prefer that.

Given the comprehensive list running in my head, I had to agree. Ghosting your parents left plenty of psychological damage, but at least there was the comfort of knowing he was still alive.

I spent the rest of my morning doing additional research on Nathan Kron. Didn’t have a real social media presence outside of the bare minimum. The only posts that had any substance was when someone he knew from his Army days had died or if there was a significant story related to the military in the news. Otherwise, he seemed content to sit on the sidelines.

I could relate, though my reasons had more to do with my chosen profession. Anonymity was a useful asset. The connections I had from the Army were all I needed. Anything beyond that felt like hanging a neon sign around my neck.

Outside of social media, Nathan didn’t leave a giant footprint on the Internet’s consciousness. Sheriff’s office in Hewitt County, where Gallimard was located, had alerts on him as a missing person. The local sites had mentioned his disappearance in short, pithy articles. They weren’t going to get themselves into a lather short of a body. Unless you were a pretty white woman or had some interesting angle, no one cared. Don Henley had a point about the media delivering what the people wanted.

That left his time in the Army. Had a few personal connections I called on from time to time for unofficial help. Felt like being back in a way. My contacts and I had an agreement that I couldn’t ask for seriously classified information or do anything to endanger their position.

I called Ronny Deublin, who had served with me back when we were young’uns full of potential and promise. Deublin was a Captain now and moving on up in the intelligence world.

Deublin said, So what do you need this time? knowing full well it was business. I realized maybe I should call once in a while to catch up and break the monotony. Problem was, casual talk was monotony for me. Wasn’t good at bullshitting for bullshitting’s sake. What passed for casual in my head was different from most.

I told him the basics about Nathan Kron and explained I was looking for some additional background. See if there was anything in his history might be considered suspicious. I also mentioned Jason Stirig and said he sounded like a shady character.

Deublin coughed. See what I can find, but in return, I’m gonna need some help from you in the not-too-distant future. Sounded like he was under the weather.

What kind of help?

Don’t want to say too much right now, but your current role as a civilian could come in handy.

That what we’re calling me now?

Or private citizen or whatever title you wish to bestow upon yourself.

Don’t mind the private citizen bit, I said. Words provided a nice parallel with my business. Any help you can provide is appreciated. I’m leaving for Indiana tomorrow so…

Should have something by the time your boots hit the ground.

Make it sound like I’m going to a foreign country.

His short, barking laugh was quickly followed by several coughs. You mean it ain’t? Some of those places out there, you’d have a hard time thinking they were the same America. I mean, you’ve been to some of the shitkicker towns outside the bases.

Fair enough. Far as your thing goes, schedule permitting, it shouldn’t be a problem.

What, are they knocking down your door asking for more help with the security thing? Or is this PI thing becoming something more than a lark?

They both come and go, I said. Right now, it’s more investigation, but the security thing’ll pick up in the next few months when the weather thaws out a little.

Oh, that’s right. I keep forgetting you moved back up North to Illinois.

Home is home.

If you say so, but it’s 60 and sunny down here.

Well, it’s 30 and sunny up here.

Heat wave.

Didn’t y’all have a winter storm down there two weeks ago or something?

Must’ve been where I got this cold from. You’d have thought the apocalypse happened way some people were acting.

Half of em believe that anyway. Think it’s God’s judgment or something. Almost makes me wish it was so he could smite those people off the face of the earth. Make this country a lot smarter than it is.

No argument here, Deublin said. There was some static in the background as Deublin coughed. Have it for you by tomorrow.

That night, I did a run-through of everything I thought I’d need for my trip. Starting with enough clothes to last for a week in case this turned out to be something. Lot of dark shirts and dark dress pants. One pair of khakis and one pair of blue jeans. In terms of work stuff, I packed my laptop, digital voice recorder, investigative kit, and a small notebook with a pair of roller gel pens.

Last, but certainly not least, I packed my weapons. Opened the safe next to my drawer and grabbed my M45A pistol, holster, two clips, and my karambit combat knife and put them on the nightstand.

Might well be nothing down there, but I wasn’t going to make the assumption. Especially when former soldiers were involved. Might be out of the game, but they still had some of their training and memories. Wasn’t going to take any of it for granted.

Didn’t mention any of this during my meeting with the Krons. Not for them to know right now. They’d said they were willing to do whatever to find answers, but they didn’t know what that specifically meant.

Any luck, they wouldn’t need to.

Two

I left for Gallimard early the next morning. Traffic on 80-94 and the first part of 65 was rough, but once I passed Merrillville, things opened up. Saw a sign for a town called Olmead and then another advertising Harbin and Gallimard West and East, respectively.

Got off at the exit and went to the McDonald’s less than a block away. Could feel my stomach revolting at the thought of digesting that processed crap, but I hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. Needed something resembling fuel in my system.

Checked my messages before leaving the car. There was a message from Deublin: Sure you know how to read an intelligence report, but don’t get too excited. Seems like an average grunt. No major discipline issues or red flags from what I’m seeing. Haven’t checked Stirig. Have something for him later. Meetings all day today.

While working on my hotcakes and sausage, I pulled up the files on Nathan Kron. Spent his Army career in Iraq and Afghanistan like his parents said. There were also trips to Saudi Arabia, Germany, and Japan mixed in.

He worked as a technician and analyst. Nothing about what, but I guessed it was a little of everything. Might not be handling the hot files, but most of what he read was classified or redacted in large chunks before the populous saw eyes on it.

Honorable discharge two years ago. No commendation or anything suggesting he was anything other than a soldier who’d done his stint. Might not have been his dream job, but in a strange way, he might have been better off if he stayed. Lot of men and women out there who joined looking for it because it wasn’t available back home.

Gallimard was fifteen minutes East of the highway exit. Almost all of it was on a two-lane road that had seen better days. Nothing but rows of trees followed by cows and farmland followed by more rows of trees. A small, faded sign greeted me with a population of less than 10,000.

Downtown area was about six blocks wide. All the buildings seemed to be made of brick and cheap siding. If a strong enough storm hit the area, most of it would collapse. There wasn’t much life on the sidewalks and most of the businesses except for a corner cafe and a small convenience store directly opposite from it were closed.

Found an open parking spot down the block from Nathan’s apartment building. Though calling it an apartment might be too generous. Seemed to be a couple of buildings grafted onto a structure with chewing gum and twine. Stairs looked like they were made out of the same material used to make children’s risers and the beams underneath holding the platform under his door didn’t look very sturdy or safe.

I knocked three times, but got no response. After fifteen seconds of nothing, I knocked harder. Heard faint shuffling in the background. It was almost eight-thirty. Jesus, get on with it. Unless he was working the night shift, there was no excuse for being this lazy.

The door opened and a young woman with curly blond hair peeked through the narrow opening. Her half-open green eye met mine and narrowed. Hello?

Is Jason here? I’m a friend of Nathan’s.

Her eye opened all the way. She turned and yelled, Jase! followed by a response I didn’t catch. She turned away and said something equally incomprehensible.

The door opened all the way. Man wearing nothing but a tank top and boxers with a large, protruding belly, locked eyes with me, glaring. He was about my height, but that was the only thing we had in common.

Jason Stirig?

"The