Burnt Evidence

By Dean Hovey

A 911 call cut off mid-scream and a melted cellphone in a circle of burned grass hint at an alien abduction in Effigy Mounds National Monument. Doug Fletcher’s cop intuition makes him reluctant to accept the investigative assignment. Jill Fletcher’s curiosity and desire to escape the oppressive Texas summer weather overcome his hesitancy.

Watching a pair of eerie lights rise over the park has them questioning their eyes. The assistance of an Air Force UFO expert, Doug’s ex-wife (an archaeology professor), and ghostly apparitions walking the river bluffs in the moonlight contribute more questions than answers. The eerie sights and clues create a confusing mix of Native traditions, aliens, and UFOs. Joined by a Navajo Nation Police colleague, they pull apart the threads of diversion and get to the root of the problem.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Apr 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9780228616276

Book preview

Burnt Evidence

Doug Fletcher book 8

Dean L. Hovey

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 978-0-2286-1627-6

Kindle 978-0-2286-1628-3

PDF 978-0-2286-1629-0

Print ISBNs

Amazon Print 978-0-2286-1630-6

LSI Print 978-0-2286-1631-3

B&N Print 978-0-2286-1632-0

Copyright 2021 Dean L. Hovey

Cover art by Michelle Lee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction, a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or people is coincidental and unintended. Actual locations and establishments are used fictionally.

Dedication

To Ray and Fran Brozo

I owe thanks to many people who contributed their knowledge, skill, and critique of this book. Julie continues to be my first proofreader and medical resource. Because of the location, I tapped into Ray Brozo, who spent years in the Prairie du Chien area. His wife, Frannie, is an archaeologist who always adds texture to the locations and the characters. Deanna Wilson reviewed the police procedures and set me straight when I deviated too far from reasonable and rational policing. Mike Westfall and Anne Flagge corrected the Iowa local history. Don Hultman, a National Fish and Wildlife Service retiree, proofed parts of the manuscript and allowed me to use his name as a character. Natalie Lund, Anne Flagge, and Jeff Telker proofed and corrected the manuscript. Many thanks to Jude Pittman and Susan Davis for their editorial and publishing expertise and support.

Prologue

Abbie Coleman scrambled along the edge of the bluff in the darkness, ripping her nails and scraping her knees on the rough stone. She ducked behind the brush and slid over the rocky edge with only a sliver of moon and starlight to navigate the irregular rocks.

The previous night she’d been waiting tables in Prairie du Chien’s Trapper Saloon. As usual, she was as invisible to the patrons as the beaver pelts and deer heads on the walls. She had accepted that a chunky, middle-aged woman with graying hair was invisible to men except when they wanted a beer. So she wiped tables, filled ketchup bottles, and listened to the banter between her trips to the bar refilling pitchers and mugs and back to deliver the goods.

Three of her regular customers occupied a four-place, high-top table. They huddled close and spoke in hushed tones, obviously conspiring over something and leaving Abbie curious about the topic. One night, she’d heard a couple of shady characters talking about stolen outboard motors, and she’d passed that information on to the police. Another night, she’d listened to a group of rowdy younger men planning a bachelor party with strippers from La Crosse. Other nights, the topics had been the hot new catfish bait (chicken livers left two days in the summer sun), the best spots to catch white bass, and the wagering on who would shoot the biggest whitetail buck. Tonight, the topic was morel mushrooms and the local hot spots for spring mushroom picking. The men, all thirty-something, were questioning a man Abbie knew only as Charlie, about the exact location of his secret hot spots. He dropped hints, more likely intended to mislead his buddies than to reveal a secret location that might’ve been passed down from his father.

The bartender flashed the lights, signaling the last call before closing. The whispers at nine o’clock had become talk at eleven. As Abbie approached the table to deliver the final round of beers, the men were loud and uninhibited. The evening progression was predictable and sometimes led to Abbie being propositioned by one of the lonely patrons as the bartender shooed the customers out the door. Tonight, the men were focused elsewhere.

Charlie looked around to see if anyone was listening. Seeing only Abbie, he leaned close to the others and slurred. I got a thousand bucks from a guy yesterday.

The others looked impressed as Abbie remembered seeing Charlie and an Asian man sitting at a back corner table. Money had changed hands, and with his foot, Charlie had pushed a brown shopping bag with a crimped top across the floor to the other man.

Abbie set the beers on fresh coasters, and Charlie dug a twenty out of his wallet and pressed it into her hand. Keep the change, he said with a wink.

Another guy leaned past her as if she were a post blocking his view and glared at Charlie. No way! It’s not harvesting time yet.

Charlie waved him off. Bullshit! If I can make that kind of money, the season don’t mean nothing. If you guys can keep your yaps shut, I’ll take you there. No way I can collect it all myself, and I’ll cut each of you in for twenty percent.

Twenty percent! We should each get a third!

Abbie paused, wiping an imaginary spot from the nearby table.

I have the spot and a buyer. You two are just mindless labor, and maybe helping with some other issues.

Twenty-five percent or I stay home and sleep.

Fine. Twenty-five, but it’ll take me a week to dry and deliver the product. If you ever tell anyone about this spot… Charlie’s voice dropped to a menacing whisper.

Abbie wiped the nearby tables and overheard more details about the secret spot across the river. The timing was urgent because the dark of the moon hid their operation, so the next few nights were prime time.

She considered calling a local cop she’d fed information to in the past, but the thought of making a thousand dollars in one night was too tempting.

That knowledge brought her to the river bluffs in the dark of the next night. The whole plan turned sour when she realized she generally knew but not precisely where this windfall crop was found, what it looked like, or what tools besides a flashlight were needed to harvest it. Her frustration mounted as she scrambled among the rocks. Then she heard voices. She switched off her flashlight, but her horror mounted as the voices got closer. In a panic, she switched on the flashlight and stumbled over the rocks and tree roots along the top of the river bluff, attempting to find a path she hoped would loop away from her pursuers and to a road.

A shout rose behind her. Hey! Who are you?

The shouts spurred her on. Instead of finding a trail, the landscape got steeper and turned into a near-vertical bluff. The shouts faded, so she switched the flashlight on and scrambled ahead to distance herself from her pursuers. A trail cut off the top of the bluff and toward the river. She passed the flashlight to her left hand, so she could lean against the rough rock face just as her foot slipped. The flashlight clattered down the slope as she used both hands to grab rocks and keep from falling down the steep bluff. The sound of a train approached below the cliff, traveling the tracks along the Mississippi River. The sound moved through the rock, and she felt the vibration in her fingertips as she edged along. The trail went from a foot wide to the width of her shoe, then only inches wide, supporting only the toes of her shoes. Voices, lost in the rumble of the train, were directly above her.

She grabbed another outcropping, and when she pulled herself ahead, the rock under her right toe broke free, leaving her hanging by her hands. Her life didn’t pass before her eyes, just the scene in junior high physical education as she’d tried to climb a rope strung from the gymnasium ceiling. When she was fourteen, her arm and leg muscles had quivered as she’d slid down five feet of the rope. Now, thirty-five years later, her arms turned to jelly, and her fingers slipped.

The dark world spun by as she hit a rocky outcropping that propelled her away from the bluff. Sound, light, feel, and smell all left her as she wind-milled down the hill. She hit the branches of a tree, tossing her toward the river. Her impact on the rail bed knocked the wind out of her. A moment later, shining steel wheels flashed in the starlight, reflecting off the rail.

Chapter 1

I was talking to a visitor in the Padre Island National Seashore parking lot about local restaurants when I heard my name.

Fletcher, when you have a second, my boss shouted from the park administration building. The park superintendent, Matt Mattson, stood in the shade next to the front door.

I walked the sidewalk, my shirt sweaty under the bulletproof vest that had become part of my uniform after an earlier confrontation with armed visitors who’d been stealing Spanish coins buried in the dunes. What’s up?

Matt waved me out of the steamy Texas coast heat into the air-conditioned building. I just got off the phone with the superintendent of Effigy Mounds National Monument.

Where’s that?

Matt ushered me to his office where Jill, my wife, also a National Park Service investigator, occupied one of Matt’s guest chairs. It’s along the Mississippi River in east-central Iowa.

I checked Jill’s face for a hint of what was going on, but she shook her head.

Matt closed the door. Paul Carlton is the superintendent. He got a call from the county 911 center last night, and they recorded it. Matt set his cellphone on the desktop, tapping up his messaging app.

Hi, Matt. I’m replaying the message we spoke about earlier, called in to the county at ten forty-nine last night.

911, what’s your emergency?

We got turned around on the Bear Trail, and it’s getting kind of weird.

Where is that trail?

It’s in Effigy Mounds Park, you know, along the river.

And you’re lost?

Well, yeah, but we found the trail. It’s just eerie.

Are you injured, or do you require medical assistance?

Um, no. It’s just that there’s this strange sound, and it’s getting closer.

Do you need someone from the National Park Service to lead you back to your vehicle?

Oh, the light is blinding me! (followed by a scream).

Are you okay? Hello? Please answer.

Matt stopped the playback. That’s it. Paul called in two rangers. There was a car in the parking lot, so it appears someone was still in the park when they closed the visitor center. The rangers walked the Marching Bear Trail but didn’t find anyone. They went back to the trail the following morning after the park opened and checked the area around the trail and found this.

Matt pulled up a photo of a charred spot in the grass. A second photo was a closeup of the burned grass, and it showed a melted cellphone, a couple of metal belt buckles, a few buttons, some jeans rivets, and two metal zippers.

I studied the photo. Looks like someone had a campfire and burned their clothing and cellphone. Was there any sign of the hikers?

None.

Jill picked up Matt’s phone, and I saw goose-pimples on her arms. Or something happened to them.

Matt accepted his phone from Jill and tapped it on his desk. One of the rangers said she’s been seeing some strange lights in the sky.

Like planes or satellites? I asked as Jill took out her phone and tapped in a search.

Matt continued to tap his phone on the desktop. She called them UFOs.

I leaned back in the chair. Really? UFOs?

Jill motioned for Matt to reopen the photos. She studied the closeup. I’m not much of a conspiracy theorist, but the internet says there are all kinds of strange phenomena in this area of the Midwest. This website says there are more UFO sightings reported in southern Wisconsin than in Area 51, in Nevada.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. So, you think this is like an alien abduction?

Jill pointed to Matt’s screen. It’s more like they were incinerated. Did you hear that scream?

I looked at Matt. What does the superintendent want?

He asked if you two would fly up there for a couple days and give him your take on what happened. His rangers are spooked, and he’s a little rattled, too.

Really, Matt? You want us to fly to Iowa on a UFO hunt?

The park also had a visitor’s death. It appears a woman was climbing on the bluff and fell. A train reported her body on the tracks.

Jill pinched her eyes shut. Trains don’t stop quickly. Did the engineer see her far enough ahead to stop before the train got to her?

Matt shook his head but didn’t answer.

I waited for a second, then asked, Was she dead before the train hit her?

Matt nodded. Paul said she’d apparently been killed by an earlier train that didn’t see or report her death.

Do you have pictures of that scene? I asked.

Matt slid his phone to me. I looked at the gruesome photo and slid it to Jill, who glanced at it and turned away.

Jill handed Matt’s phone back to him. I suppose the nearest airport is Minneapolis. We could stretch the trip over a weekend and visit Doug’s mother.

I tried my best withering glare. That is not a selling point.

Jill sighed. We’ve been married for over a year, and you’ve only been back to see your mother once. We’ve been to my family ranch twice.

We went to my family reunion in July. I don’t feel the need to rush back six weeks later.

Jill smiled. It’s not winter. You said you wouldn’t go back in the winter.

I opened my mouth but was cut off by Matt. Nothing is going on here right now, and the regional superintendent has already authorized your travel. Go. It’ll be interesting.

Jill patted my knee. It’ll be fun. Have you ever been on a UFO hunt?

I’m sure it’ll be just as productive as the nighttime snipe hunt I was on as an eleven-year-old scout.

Jill stood up. I’ll book flights. You call Ronnie.

I have no interest in…

Jill was walking out the door ahead of me and stopped, then spun around. I like your mother a lot. We’re spending the weekend in St. Paul at the end of this. It’s not open to discussion.

Matt’s eyes sparkled, and one corner of his mouth turned up in a grin. He knew I’d be tempted to reply, Yes, dear, and also knew it would earn me an elbow to the ribs.

I raised my hands in surrender. Whatever you think is best.

Jill stuck her index finger in the middle of my bulletproof vest. That’s the same as ‘yes, dear,’ dear. She paused. And don’t think you got away with it because you’re wearing a bulletproof vest. I’ll choose the time and place for your payback.

Matt shook his head. You’ve got to stop poking that bear, Doug.

Jill stuck her head around the corner. I am NOT a bear. I’m meaner than a bear when I’m pissed off.

I stepped back, out of reach. I thought Mandy was teaching you to be a southern belle.

Matt laughed. You’d better be careful about that. Mandy’s all sugar and cream right up until she boils over. Then the claws come out, and she’s meaner than a wildcat.

Jill nodded and left.

Meaner than a wildcat? I asked.

You haven’t heard swearing until you’ve pushed a southern belle past her limit. When she gets going, she’ll make a trucker blush.

I smiled. I can’t believe that.

If you answer Jill with a ‘yes dear’ when around Mandy, you just might get her wrath.

* * *

Jill was folding a uniform as I packed jeans and khaki shorts into a suitcase. Why are you bringing a uniform? We’re investigators and wear civvies.

Jill paused, then continued packing. After thirty years with the National Park Service, I have more uniforms than casual clothes. I might as well wear them.

You’ll make me look like a hick.

Jill smiled. I guess that’s up to you, isn’t it?

I took out one gray uniform shirt and a pair of green pants. I’ll pack them, but I don’t expect to wear them. I paused. I’m not bringing my Smokey Bear hat. It’s impossible to deal with it on a plane with limited overhead space.

It’s part of the uniform.

I’ll borrow one if I need it.

It’s part of the uniform if you’re outside.

I closed my eyes. You can be a real pain in the butt.

Jill smiled. It’s one of my more endearing qualities.

Yoo hoo, your chariot awaits, Mandy Mattson, our boss’s wife, called from downstairs.

Mandy wore a sundress and sandals. Her hair and makeup were perfect. Matt explained it was part of southern belle training, as were manners and being a perfect hostess. She smiled but shook her head. Douglas Fletcher, how can you let your lovely wife carry that big ‘ole suitcase. A gentleman would snatch it out of her hand and relieve her of that burden.

Mandy, it’s her penance for making me pack a uniform and my National Park Service hat.

Mandy gave me a devilish smile. I seem to recall that you worked for the National Park Service last time we spoke. Has that changed?

I opened the front door. Come along. We’ve got a plane to catch.

Jill sat in the front seat and chatted with Mandy on the drive to the airport. I focused on the upcoming job. Matt emailed the pictures to me, and I studied them. No matter how I enlarged them or looked at them, they seemed like an enigma. The charred grass around the metal objects was perfectly round, almost like someone had used a circle template to carefully burn the area inside, protecting everything outside the circle from heat.

What are you studying on your phone, Doug?

I looked at Mandy’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Matt sent me the pictures of the burned grass at Effigy Mounds. I was just trying to come up with an explanation for the perfect circle burned into the grass.

What’s the answer?

I haven’t got one.

Mandy glanced at Jill. What do you think?

It has all the markings of an alien abduction.

I groaned. The quicker you give up on your UFO theories, the quicker we’ll come up with the real cause of this.

Jill grinned and looked