Theft of Innocence

By Scott Hendricks

The beginning of a friendship and partnership between Bob Johnson, college English professor and amateur detective, and Frank Ingram, homicide lieutenant with the Sioux Fall Police Department in the Crimes Against People Unit, starts with the introduction of Frank Ingram. This new friendship starts on a very tragic note for Frank. On the way home from a long shift he is called to a particularly grim crime scene. The victim was Betsy Sogstad, the woman he loved for the previous ten years since they were high school sweethearts; which was more than adolescent infatuation. She was left near the dumpster behind to local food mission in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. The suspect is not in question; it is a matter of catching up with Marty Warren, Frank’s childhood friend turned bitter enemy in high school. How does Frank prove that it was Marty who not only kidnapped Betsy while Frank was in Army Boot Camp; but was the one who caused the death of Betsy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scott Hendricks
• Release date: Jun 25, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466172906

Scott Hendricks

Born 1949 in Sacramento, California. Graduated from Rio Americano High School, Receive BA in English & American Studies from Simpson College, Indianola, Iowa 1972. Married to Lynda 1975. Moved to South Dakota 1978. Worked for forty-four years in the field of banking holding numerous positions including: Branch Manager, Personal Banker, Private Banker, Collections Manager, Real Estate Loan Collection Manager, Operations Manager, Fraud Investigator. Retired in 2017.

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Theft of Innocence

Scott H. Hendricks

Copyright 2009 by Scott H. Hendricks

Smashwords Edition

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my loving wife, Lynda; who has put up with long hours of my face buried in my journal or concentrating on the computer keyboard. Also, I want to give many thanks to Tim Davis who has given me advice and gave me recommendations on the manuscript.

Prologue

I sat behind the wheel a few minutes before sliding the key into the ignition. I exhaled a big sigh and bent forward with a great effort. Fatigue had a its way with me. After starting the engine, I listened to its throaty purr. I pulled my ’53 'Vette from the curb and raced ahead of the traffic bearing down on me. The classic two-toned red and white was a still a babe magnet. It turned the head of everyone I passed or those who sped up to pass me. The face of a particular brunette, whose green eyes seemed to glow, created a lasting memory.

I needed that distraction. The off smile and short chuckle it caused washed the weariness from my bones; at least temporarily. I stopped at Jimmy’s Liquor Emporium, six blocks down the street. I placed a fifth of The Glenlivet, my favorite single malt scotch in my price range, on the counter next to the register and tossed three twenties at Jimmy as he slid it into a slender paper bag.

As I walked out I told Jimmy, Put the difference toward Junior’s college fund.

Thanks, Franky. At this rate, I won’t have to put any of my own money in it. Maybe, I should just call it the Ingram Scholarship?

Don’t let anyone else hear you call me Franky or I may have to stop the donations; I let out a light, quick laugh. Give Sarah my best. See you this weekend.

I slid out the parking lot, careful not to bottom out on the steep drop-off to the street. I thought, one of these days I’ll pay to have Jimmy fix that. There were enough cars to watch for and idiot drivers to avoid that it kept me from thinking about the last nine hours. My cell phone chirped out Steppenwolf’s Magic Carpet Ride.

I pretended not to know who was calling and reluctantly grumbled; Ingram.

I heard Missy’s overly cheerful voice, Hi, Franky.

I grunted.

Still very cheerful, When ya gonna see who’s calling before you answer, Sweetie? Whatcha dooin?

I curled my nose at the first question and flipped an answer to the second, I just picked up my best friend and was heading home. How about you?

I Thought I’d head over to your place.

Sorry, Missy tonight wouldn’t be a good night for that. Maybe, we can hook up tomorrow?

Did you have a tough day? I thought you’ve only had a few deaths by fights and accidents? My magic fingers are looking to untie those knots you twist yourself into.

I appreciate that; but even your magic fingers wouldn’t touch this, I’m afraid. I caught a real bad one earlier this afternoon. Some asshole did a slice and dice on an undeserving lady. My butcher should be so wicked with a blade. The trouble is the victim was the girl I dated in high school and your best friend. It was Betsy.

Missy screamed, No! No! and then continued, I didn’t know she was back in town. Oh, Frank, what happened? Oh gawd, Franky, what can I do to help?

Let’s figure that out tomorrow. Sorry I growled at you. I feel my demons clawing under my skin trying to get out.

You sure you want to be alone?

No, but it would be best for now. I’ll call you first thing in the morning.

Okay, but I’ll leave my cell on.

Thanks; catch ya later.

The dim light of early evening that filtered through the window was long past as I leaned back in my favorite chair. The madness of a memory slammed into the side of my head like a brick falling and then crashing onto concrete. The fingers of the memory clawed across my mind, leaving me to question.

What am I questioning? It seems the razors edge of reality gets duller with each passing moment. The destructive power of past deeds and the shredding of pleasant memories loom in the dark recesses. It is within these recesses, my mind hides the least pleasant memories from my consciousness; lest they frighten my waking hours.

The madness of one memory draws out the long buried ghosts that haunt the ever increasing darkness of the still night. The anguished screams, from the victims of cases that remain open, flood the calming sounds of nocturnal animals that normally fill this cavernous room. I feel the venom coursing through my veins with an unsupressed fire. It burns my soul to the quick. The pain and hurt grows within me and the morning dew will settle long before my phantoms return to their personal cavity in the dark recesses of my mind.

I took a long sip of my fourth scotch. The amber liquid warmed me all the way to my toes, yet the icy breath of my demons wasn’t quenched. The prospect of dawn breaking through the open window before the madness ebbed meant another long shift haunted by daymares. I crawled toward the cool of the ebony sky. The pin point lights dotting the canopy on the far side of midnight were like darts piercing the windows to my soul; perpetuating the dive into my personal Hell. Lately, I took this tour too often. I knew not what precipice or vile wilderness would be in my future. Though I was sure it would be some variation of an alternate or a much too vibrant reality.

I picked up my cell phone and speed dialed Missy, Sorry to wake you in the middle of the night, Missy. I don’t even know what time it is.

I was waiting for your call, Frank. Did your best friend fail you again? I’m only a block away.

I couldn’t answer her.

I’ll let myself in; just make sure that metal phallus you carry in the shoulder holster is locked in the safe.

I’ll do anything for…

Missy interrupted, You can whisper those things to me when I get there.

This was how Frank Ingram remembered how his day ended as he fought sleep. His demons danced in front of his headlight eyes. As he removed his Glock from its holster, his demons taunted him to veer off the fine edge of reality; he was tempted.

Chapter 1

Frank woke raining sweat from a disturbed sleep. He reached over and felt the steady and even rhythm of Missy sleeping. A huge sigh escaped his lips. It didn’t bother his fiancée. It never ceased to amaze him that she accepted him, his demons and all the other baggage. He rolled over and looked at the clock; it now read six o’clock. Instinctively, he knew it was morning and not evening.

He spoke under his breath, Three and half hours, I can live with that. And that’s a lot more than I expected.

Out of the corner of his ear he heard a whisper, That you, Franky?

Frank leaned over and kissed Missy on the cheek, Yeah, it’s me. Go back to sleep.

He padded to the kitchen. Frank let the cool of the morning dry the night sweats from his bare skin. He loaded five heaping tablespoons of dark roasted aromatic coffee beans in the grinder. The smells rising from the pot as it brewed helped to wake him further. With coffee in hand Frank made it to the bathroom. He didn’t like the looks of the canyons that scored his face from the horrors of the day before.

He looked hard at his own blood shot eyes that stared back at him in the mirror and commented; Ingram, your damned fool. Why do you stay on the Jackal Squad? Surely, there must be other positions that wouldn’t lend you fodder for your nightmares.

Suddenly, there were two soft pink arms wrapped tightly around his chest and a whisper in his ear; Because you’re a victim’s angel, Franky. A soft warm kiss on his neck sent chills down his back, Remember, you’re their last and greatest hope to get those creeps off our streets. At least, I feel better with you out there doing what you do.

Frank twisted one hundred-eighty degrees in her arms, You’re worth it, as long as I have you to come home to. The anguish will evaporate at least for a few hours.

In a throaty whisper, Missy suggested, Let’s take a shower. That will wash all your troubles down the drain. I’ll make sure of it. You need to be fresh to find Betsy’s killer. On this one you are going to let me help. If you remember, Betsy and I were best friends. That is until she hooked up with that ass of a husband. I only saw her twice after the wedding; cuz ass-wipe made it clear I wasn’t welcome.

Frank added quickly, Speaking of whom, that might be a very good place to start this investigation. Don’t his parents still live out by the landfill?

Missy apologized, Franky, I’m sorry I spoke like that. It’s just every time I think of Marty, the worst side of me escapes. I wouldn’t put it past him to do something like this. He treated her like dirt and she and she, she… She had to catch her breath for a second and then she hissed, Yeah, his parents still live in that run down place by the landfill. His dad is nearly always drunk. His mom is pretty descent when he’s not around.

Both he and his son are quite the slugs. I’ve had a few run-ins with both over the years. And, I don’t mean to demean the slugs.

They embraced, tightly as they stepped into the large stall shower. When done, Missy made vegetable omelets with whole grain toast as Frank got dressed. He went to the back of his closet and pulled out tan slacks and a red polo.

Missy commented as Frank strutted into the kitchen, What’s the occasion, handsome?

With a broad smile, Last night you told me you had magic fingers. I’d say your voice carries more magic. Not only did you give me an avenue to pursue that I had forgotten about, you also eased my soul with your words of encouragement. Knowing you’re here to pick up the pieces means a hell of a lot to me. Besides, it makes me look handsome, don’t you think? Nah, I felt that since you made me feel good on the inside, I could do something about the outside.

Okay, Frank, enough of the sentimental bullshit. You don’t wear it very well and I don’t either. Back to Betsy; let me speak to her parents after you’ve covered the legal stuff. They might say more to me than anyone else. We’ve kept in touch over the years.

Getting too deeply involved could get dangerous for you. I don’t want anything to happen that either one of us would regret later.

Come on, Frank, it’s only her parents. How dangerous can that be?

That depends entirely on you and where you take the information you get. Your best bet is to tell me everything you learn. I’m sure Betsy would have told them where she was at all times.

I’m not too sure about that, Franky. There was one time where nearly an entire year went by and they hadn’t heard from her.

Whatever you do, Missy, if you find out where Marty is, don’t go after him. But, I suppose that I don’t need to tell you. Just between you and me, before we were in high school we were buddies. We’d go rat hunting in the dump and he could hit one in the eye at a hundred yards with a twenty-two. Also, he and his old man used to go big game hunting in the Rockies, with no licenses of course. They’d shoot the animals for the sheer pleasure of the kill and then leave them where they laid for the scavengers to eat them. That’s something you probably never heard about him. Take what you know and multiply it by one hundred and that’s how mean this son-of-a-bitch is.

What were his parents like?

Frank pondered for a moment, His dad was a drunk and couldn’t keep anything but day jobs. Hell, he even got fired from the kill floor at John Morrell’s Meat Pack. Rumor has it that he’d purposefully botch a kill just to watch the animal suffer. One day the foreman caught him and the rest of the crew had to drag the foreman out. After work he’d stop at some dive bar and drink half his paycheck then go home to use Marty and his mom as punching bags. As for his mom, she seemed okay. She always treated me real nice. By this time they had migrated back to the bedroom and Missy picked out a nice spaghetti strap, summer dress. She wanted to look nice out of respect for Betsy’s mom. They both looked at the bedside clock. They looked at each other and left. The roar of Frank’s ‘Vette broke the rhythm of the bird’s songs as they backed out of the garage.

Chapter 2

Missy and Frank pulled in the driveway of the Sogstad home in the Tomar Highlands area of Sioux Falls. He turned off the ignition of his ’53 red and white ‘Vette and they sat in the hovering and very disturbing silence. Neither wanted to speak, but their eyes said enough. The quiet tears floating down Missy’s cheek spoke volumes that their mouths couldn’t form. The reality of having to speak to Betsy’s parents after some ten plus years brought back the sadness to the chestnut brown eyes of Frank. His face canyons Missy eased overnight returned.

The short walk from the car to the front door played out in slow motion in their minds. They really didn’t want to be there, especially under the circumstances. Missy thought over and over, again, about what she’d say to them. Every scenario seemed trite and didn’t really express what she felt.

Frank’s voice yanked her from her thoughts; You know this never gets any easier. I think that it may push the knife in a little deeper each time. Now, I have to bring the ugliness of the streets to the family of someone I cared about. It hurts even if it was close ten years ago.

Missy was unable to come up with a response before Frank knocked on the front door. Footsteps echoed from within the closed door and they both felt the faint trickle of sweat caused by fear of the unknown. Mrs. Sogstad opened the door.

She immediately recognized both but addressed Missy, It’s so nice to see you again, Missy. I got a quick phone call from Betsy three days ago. She’s on her way home. We’ve waited so long. I half expected to see her yesterday.

Frank and Missy looked at each other and he picked up on her discomfort, That’s why we’re here, Mrs. Sogstad. May we come in?

Sure, Frank, please excuse this old lady for being so thoughtless. We’re sitting at the kitchen table having coffee. Do come in. Would you like some?

Missy answered, That would be nice, Mrs. Sogstad. I’m sorry for not stopping by more often.

Mr. Sogstad rose from his chair when they go to the kitchen. He waited until his wife and Missy sat down, Please sit, Frank, and I’ll get some coffee. Missy you still drink it black? Same for you, Frank?

Yes, thank you, Mr. Sogstad.

When he returned to the table he shook Frank’s hand and asked, And, to what do we owe this pleasant surprise? I must say it has been quite some time since you were last here, Frank.

Yes, it has been a long time. I suppose that I should have made the effort long before now.

Frank wanted to turn and run as the silence grew, There’s no easy way to start. I’m afraid this is not a social visit.

Mrs. Sogstad picked up on it quickly, What’s wrong, Frank? Is there something we can help you with? Did something happen to one of our neighbors?

Frank sighed and started, fighting back the unknown sensation of tears, It’s Betsy…

Before he could utter another word, Mrs. Sogstad’s eyes got big as saucers and Mr. Sogstad’s commanding and booming voice asked, What about Betsy? Have you seen her? Is she in some type of trouble?

I’m afraid so, Mr. Sogstad. I was assigned a homicide case yesterday. Mrs. Sogstad began to whimper as her face turned ashen, Frank continued unable to look at her, It was Betsy. I really hate having to tell you this, but the victim was your daughter, Betsy.

Immediately, Mr. Sogstad took control, What happened, Frank. I want to know all the details. Who did it? When did it happen? What’s being done about it?

Frank glanced quickly at Mrs. Sogstad and then back, May I call you Ed. It’ll make this a whole lot easier?

That’d be fine. We’re all adults here.

Thank you. Ed, let’s, you and I, go out back and have a cigar.

What for?

It’d be better if you and I talked in private. Frank stood and said so only Ed could hear, We should let those two have a good cry.

With question marks in his eyes, Ed led the way to the back door. A light, warm late spring breeze blew the familiar scent of blooming lilacs toward them. Frank pulled out two cigars, handed one to Ed and looked over the top edge of the tiered deck. He clipped a small portion of the end of his Don Diego Belicoso Reserve and handed the clipper to Ed.

As he lit Ed’s cigar, he began There is no kind way to put what I’m going to tell you. I’m going to leave out some of the more gruesome details.

Frank, don’t sugarcoat this. I want to know all the details no matter how bad. If you remember, I retired as a full bird Colonel from the Army. I started out at a Lieutenant in Viet Nam. I saw buddies missing half their body parts and caused the same to happen to the enemy. And that was all before, I started my own business. So, don’t leave anything unsaid.

But, it’s your own daughter, sir. I…

All the more reason, he pointed to the stairs.

Even in silence, Frank felt the command of Ed taking over the direction of the conversation. This made it easier for Frank to say what needed to be said. The back yard sloped away from the house. They descended two tiers before they reached Mrs. Sogstad’s prize winning English style garden; with fountains, hedges and well arranged flower beds. Frank remembered the hours she spent on it. There was something peaceful and magical about walking through the winding gravel paths.

Let me first say how deeply this has affected Missy and me. You have our deepest sympathy. When I recognized her, I regretted having to get reacquainted with you under these circumstances, sir.

I can appreciate that, Frank. Life has a way of leading us away from old friends.

"At this point and time, all I can give you are the details of the crime as we know them. The who and the