Then Came the Dawn

By Jeanne Martz

It is 1940 and a tragedy has just occurred outside Tiffin, Iowa. After a bloody collarbone, pieces of flesh, and garments are found on the railroad tracks, local police learn that Finn Fletcher, an eighteen-year-old American Indian psychiatric patient, has escaped from the hospital. Moments later, a bank in Iowa City is robbed.

Without a body to autopsy, Officer Hugh Chancy has his work cut out for him. While his captain contemplates whether the two cases are related, Chancy launches an investigation starting with Finns adoptive Finns adoptive parents and the eventual realization that the teen was on a mission to locate his biological parents when he allegedly met his fate. His quest to locate Finn and his biological family takes him to South Dakotas Rosebud Indian Reservation and ultimately into Canadian territory, but he returns home with a trail of dead ends. As loose ends dangle, secrets are unveiled, and further leads adding even more confusion. Chancy battles his own personal challenges while attempting to solve the mystery of a missing teen trapped within something much bigger than he anticipated.

Then Came the Dawn shares the gripping tale of a missing American Indian teenager and the Iowa police detective determined to find him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532034237

Jeanne Martz

Jeanne Martz is the author of four books. “The Sons of Nels Swenson” is a sequel to her book “The Women of Swenson Farm” published in 2015. Her love for rural communities, farming, and country folk has inspired her books. She is a graduate of Iowa State University and has always called Iowa home.

Book preview

Copyright © 2017 Jeanne Martz.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-5320-3424-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-3423-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017917190

iUniverse rev. date: 11/13/2017

CONTENTS

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

31578.png INTRODUCTION

Between the years 1920–1950 a strong moral compass and wholesome fear of God existed. Home and family activities centered around the church not only for spiritual guidance but also for social interaction. Prejudice and bigotry for the different and unfamiliar ran rampant even in Christian circles and often were not included in a long list of sins identified by mainline churches. Then Came the Dawn emphasizes the importance of faith, forgiveness, and the healing power of confessed sin for restoration and peace within the soul.

31633.png CHAPTER 1

A bloody collarbone and scattered pieces of flesh and garments found on the railroad tracks one mile east of Tiffin, Iowa, were the only identification for the victim of a tragic event. The initials H. R. were inked heavily on a label attached to what appeared to be bib overalls ripped apart and strewn across the rails.

Haven’t seen anything this gruesome since they found that teacher murdered over in Coralville in in the fall of ’38. Almost two years to the day, said Dr. George Williams, county coroner. I’d guess our victim to be a stocky male—from the size 40M on the overall label—who had straight black hair, he said, examining the stringy follicle stuck to the bone fragment. But the evidence most likely to pinpoint his identity is the shoe, he said to Officer Hugh Chancy, walking alongside him. Odd-looking thing.

The shoe, a white oxford, was thrown clear of the tracks into a ravine a short distance away. The white leather was glossed over with black shoe polish and featured a red rubber sole and a corrective arch support inside.

It has the same initials as the scrap of overalls. What do you suppose happened to the body? Officer Chancy asked.

Dr. Williams pushed his fedora back and stood with his hands on his hips, scanning the area. Hard to say. Maybe caught under the train and carried further down the tracks. Maybe carried off by an animal. Hard to say. It’ll show up. Whoever the poor chap was either fell from a westbound train or was pulverized when he tried to hop aboard.

After leaving Dr. Williams, Officer Chancy returned to the train depot back in Iowa City to interview the train personnel on duty the night before. Only one train had left the station the previous night at seven forty-five and passed through Tiffin. The rail man, who rode a pumper car from Iowa City to Oxford shortly before the train left the station, reported an all clear on the tracks and nothing unusual along the way. The same trip Saturday morning revealed the scattered remains stretched for several hundred feet along the rails but no body.

The train in question had arrived in the Omaha stockyards around one o’clock in the morning. Rock Island Lines cooperated in the investigation of the incident. The distraught engineer knew nothing, saw nothing, and heard nothing out of the ordinary on the route to Omaha. The nonstop station at Tiffin was well lit. Any screams or call for help by the victim would have been drowned out by the clanking wheels and the whistle of the train as it rolled through the town.

28225.png

Business had been hectic at police headquarters in Johnson County, Iowa, since the previous day. Captain Pete Roland had received a call midafternoon from the psychiatric ward of University Hospital.

Captain Roland here.

This is Cynthia Goodman from University Hospital. One of our male patients is missing.

Give me his name and a brief description, ma’am. Age, height, weight, hair and eye color, and the clothes he wore when last seen.

His name is Finn Fletcher, Miss Goodman answered. He is eighteen years old, five ten, black hair, brown eyes, and he was wearing denim coveralls and a plaid shirt when he left with his father on a trusted outing. They were going to a football game at the university stadium.

How long has he been gone?

They left here at eleven. Mr. Fletcher called around one thirty to report him missing.

Is he dangerous? Captain Roland asked.

No. When he first came here in August, he was extremely agitated and put in isolation for a couple of days. He had been a model patient since then and had earned trusted time to leave the hospital with supervision. I don’t think he’d hurt anyone—unless … Cynthia hesitated.

Unless what?

Well, maybe the mother. She seemed to be the reason he was sent here.

We’ll be on the lookout for him, ma’am, Roland assured her. Give me your number, and I’ll call you when we find him.

Captain Roland laid the partially filled missing-person form aside when he noticed the worn-out carbon paper didn’t transfer to the bottom layer. Before he returned with a fresh sheet, another call came in.

We’re being robbed, whispered the voice on the other end of the line.

Roland covered the mouthpiece and raised his voice to the officers in the room. Can you keep it down a little? I can’t hear. The noise ceased, and Roland returned to the caller. Repeat that for me, sir.

First National Bank in downtown Iowa City is being robbed. Hurry! He’s got a gun.

The urgency to locate Finn Fletcher suddenly seemed insignificant in light of this development. He hung up and called the nearest precinct in University Heights for backup. Grabbing his hat off the coatrack and holstering his gun, he yelled to Sharp and Chancy, Get your things, boys. There’s a robbery taking place at First National.

The two officers followed Roland in their squad cars. Three more motorcycle units had joined them by the time they reached the bank. With sirens wailing and guns drawn, they all entered the quiet lobby, startling the employees and clients still shaken from the robbery. Their hands went up again as six officers surrounded the lobby with the same show of force exhibited by the robber, except with more noise and action than the heist ten minutes earlier.

One of the employees stepped forward. It’s all right, Officers. I’m Arthur Welch, president of First National. The thief is gone. We’re all a little jumpy, but no one was physically hurt.

When it was clear the bank was secure, Roland dismissed the three cycle cops and focused on Arthur Welch’s testimony of the robbery.

The three tellers remained behind their enclosed stations under the watchful eyes of the current president Franklin Roosevelt’s portrait hanging in the lobby. Welch recalled the incident for the officers.

We were all present when the gunman came through the revolving door and fired two shots into the ceiling.

Are you the one who made the call to the precinct? Captain Roland took out a notepad and scribbled as they talked.

Yes, sir. I was digging through the bottom drawer of my desk when I heard the shots. I peered out my office window—he pointed to a cubicle off to the right of the tellers— and I saw this guy with a pink silk scarf wrapped around his face waving a gun as he approached my tellers. He wore a felt hat pulled down over his forehead, so all you could see were his eyes. I don’t think he saw me. I ducked under my desk, pulled the phone to the floor, and dialed you guys.

That was very brave, sir, said Captain Roland. A pink silk scarf, huh? Odd.

I didn’t see anything after that.

I understand. You did the right thing. Which cashier was robbed?

We all were, said the only male teller. He came to each of our windows, held out the sack, and said, ‘Fill’er up.’ It looked like a pillowcase, only a dark color.

Chancy, Sharp, see if you can pull some fingerprints from each of their stations, said Captain Roland.

Won’t do any good, said the young teller. He wore gloves, yellow work gloves.

What else can you tell us about him? Like how old, how tall, color of his eyes?

His eyes were dark, his skin was really tan like a Mexican, and he had black shaggy hair creeping down his collar. Like Mr. Welch said, the scarf was pink, the hat brown, pants black, and he wore a pea-green jacket.

Are you sure he wasn’t a clown? Captain Roland asked with a raised eyebrow. Anything else you two want to add? he said, addressing the two female tellers.

They shook their heads.

Did he seem nervous? Were you afraid he’d use the gun again?

No, but I made sure I did everything he asked. I had balanced my drawer out at noon because I had taken several large deposits this morning. He didn’t get much from me. Basically, just the hundred and twenty-five I start out with after balancing, said the teller, whose nameplate bore the moniker Irene.

How about you two? Do you know what he took from your drawers?

No, sir, I was waiting for you guys to investigate before I touched my drawer, said the male teller."

Same here, said the other girl.

Do that now.

Bank president Welch went behind their cages to supervise and help count the receipts.

Captain Roland left them to their work while he interviewed the customer witnesses.

Did any of you see anyone waiting outside? Did he seem to be alone?

A well-dressed man spoke up. He came in by himself, and when he left, he ran north as far as I could see. No one joined him.

So, there was no lookout?

No, sir, several others chimed in, shaking their heads.

What did you all do while the robbery took place? Just stand there with your arms folded and watch?

A chubby fellow in a double-breasted, striped suit answered. He said, ‘Lay flat on the floor and keep quiet.’ That wasn’t no fake gun he was holding. He meant business. I wasn’t going to try and be a hero. I got a family that needs me.

Because he was trigger happy, I lay over my little boy to protect him and keep him quiet, said a mother with a toddler in arms.

Sadie and I are too old. Nothing we could have done, Captain. The elderly gentleman pulled his wife closer.

"You’ve all been very helpful. If you will leave your names, addresses, and phone numbers with Officer Chancy, we’ll be talking more with you later as things develop. Unless there is anything else that you think is important, you’re free to leave.

Sharp, keep those reporters outside. We’re not making statements at this time, he yelled as two reporters slipped in a side door. Mr. Bank President, how’s that audit coming?

It appears the thug made off with eight hundred dollars and a handful of change, said Arthur Welch.

Captain Roland whistled through his teeth. Why didn’t you have a security guard on duty? There are still a lot of post-Depression people not back on their feet yet.

Yes, you’re right. The guard was feeling poorly when he left yesterday, and this morning he called in sick. The little fella’s in his seventies and not in good health; some kind of palsy.

I think it’s time you hired someone a bit more threatening for your customers’ protection, Roland said with authority.

Right again, sir, said Arthur Welch. I’ve worked in banking for twenty years and have never been robbed. Good thing Irene balanced out her drawer before he came in. It could have been worse. We would have lost thousands more.

It was after five o’clock before Captain Roland and the two officers returned to headquarters. He and Chancy stayed late doing paperwork, sending out APBs in the surrounding communities, and talking with the Des Moines Tribune, the Cedar Rapids Gazette, and radio stations KSNT and WTO, relating what little information they had.

For Roland, dinner consisted of a half-eaten bologna sandwich left over from lunch and a muddy cup of coffee brewed at eight that morning. That’s it. I’m going home, he said as Smitty, the night supervisor, started his shift. There is nothing here you can’t handle or that can’t wait until morning.

If you want to stick around and fill me in, I’ll make some fresh coffee.

No, I’m tired. Busiest day I’ve had since the fall of ’38 when we spent two days without sleep in the Coralville murder.

Anything on the agenda I need to take care of tonight, sir?

There may be some calls about the robbery suspect, and look over these reports if you get a chance. A fresh pair of eyes may see something we missed.

I’m on it, sir. See you in the morning. Smitty opened the door and gave him a slight shove into the hallway.

29013.png

Smitty was headed out when Captain Roland dragged himself into the office at ten the next morning, ready to take the helm of precinct number one in Johnson County. A pile of papers was neatly stacked on his desk.

What’s all this, Smitty?

I wrote you a note, but it’s probably best I go over them in person. Dr. Williams, the coroner, reported mutilated remains found just outside of Tiffin along the railroad tracks this morning. Officer Chancy is there now. I put the information on top along with a partial report I found on your desk about the missing mental patient from University Hospital. There’s a possibility it might be connected with our robbery suspect. There are similarities.

Well, I’ll be. I completely forgot about the missing boy in all the hullabaloo taking place yesterday. Thanks for staying over, Smitty. I’ll leave any updates on your desk.

By afternoon, the news was out about the escaped mental patient, giving only a physical description of him. The phone rang off the hook with citizen sightings of a young man fitting the description of the robber hanging around the railroad yards the day before. One call came from a woman who saw him hitchhiking on the highway near Millersburg. Another citizen saw a man running from the bank shortly after noon, headed south, and two people reported missing teenagers.

Captain Roland felt the pressure mounting as he pondered the two cases. The public was in a panic with a gunman on the loose and an escaped mental patient running the streets. They wanted answers and details. Were they safe? Should they keep a closer eye on their children’s activities?

Roland couldn’t understand why Smitty thought the two cases could be connected. The only possibilities he saw were the timing of Finn’s escape from the football stadium and the robbery an hour later. The physical description of the two men, such as eye and hair color, could fit half the male population with a stocky build. The clothing of Finn Fletcher wasn’t even close to what the gunman wore into the bank.

His head hurt. The precinct seldom handled major cases, and two chief investigations at the same time overwhelmed him. Now a third situation demanded his attention. The remains on the tracks at Tiffin definitely pointed to Finn Fletcher.

He handed off the ongoing phone calls to the other officers, with instructions not to report anything new to the media. I’ll hold a press conference in a day or two when we have more answers. Anything new coming in from the public or officials you can hand over to me. Is that clear?

Yes, sir, they said.

He called Chancy into his office. Since you were the investigating officer with the coroner and railroad personnel, I’m giving you the Finn case. See what you can do.

Be glad to, Captain. Have you spoken with his parents yet?

No, let’s make sure the victim on the tracks is Finn. None of the details have been made public yet. Otherwise the father would have contacted us by now.

That’s true, sir.

Chancy spun the phone dial with the number that Cynthia Goodman from University Hospital had left with Captain Roland. Perhaps she could clear up some of the discrepancies like the initials (H. R.) marked in the overalls and shoe. They were definitely not those of Finn Fletcher.

Miss Goodman, this is Officer Hugh Chancy following up on the Finn Fletcher case. Perhaps you can help clear up some questions I have about Finn’s identification. Yesterday, the Johnson County coroner found a few remains along the rails near Tiffin, suggesting they may belong to the young man you said escaped from the hospital. The clothing they found matched what you said Finn Fletcher wore when he left yesterday. The initials in the shoes and overalls, however, are puzzling me. Do the patients share clothes from a community closet?

No, but the clothes they are given are used by previous patients. Most of the laundry marks have faded enough to allow fresh ink to be stamped over them. What were the initials? said Miss Goodman.

H. R. Chancy replied.

Yes, sir. Those are Finn’s belongings. You said remains. That means Finn is dead? He heard her groan on the other end. Oh, Finn, God rest your troubled soul.

After a few seconds of respect, Chancy said, You want to explain the laundry marks or keep me guessing?

I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that Finn was a wonderful young man. Everyone liked Finn. He wrote those initials himself. He even insisted we call him Hunter. Finn Fletcher is the name his adopted parents gave him. I guess the Indian name was part of a fantasy he played since he was a little boy.

What was the other name he used?

Let me think. Hmm … Rain. Yes, it was Rain.

Is Finn Indian by birth?

I believe so, but you’ll have to get those details from the parents.

What about the shoes? Was he crippled? The arch support suggests he had a problem. Or were they given to him at the hospital?

No, he did not walk with a limp. The shoes were his and special ordered because of foot surgery he had early in life. They were pretty fancy looking before he polished them black.

Why did he do that? Chancy couldn’t wait to hear the explanation.

His mother made him wear them. He called them sissy shoes. You know—white, stylish, and prissy.

I’m sorry about Finn, Miss Goodman. You’ve been very helpful. I’ll contact the parents with the news about their son.

He cradled the receiver until he heard her hang up. Almost too easy, he said out loud and then headed to Roland’s office. He knocked on the open door to announce his presence.

I’d like to mark this case solved, he said, holding up the box of Finn’s reports.

Come in, Roland said, motioning him to a chair. I don’t know, Chancy. It’s crazy to think Finn Fletcher robbed First National. They would have found money flying everywhere from Iowa City to Tiffin and beyond.

I suppose he could have carried it on him somehow. Maybe he ditched the bag before he hopped the train. It could still be found on the body along with the gun, said Chancy.

What did he do, wear different clothes to rob the bank and change back to the overalls? Nah, I don’t think so. All the witnesses saw the brown shoes. None of them mentioned black shoes with red rubber soles. You have to admit those would have stood out to anyone at eye level with the floor.

You’re right, Captain.

I’d like to go over your findings one more time tonight, he said, taking the box from Chancy. Then tomorrow I need to meet with the Fletchers. It’s the one thing about the job I hate. I’ll never get used to it.

I wouldn’t mind, Captain. I’d like to meet them and hear more of their story.

Hugh Chancy drove along the neat boulevard lined with shady elms and wild rose bushes. The Fletchers’ two-story house with a wraparound porch stood out among a variety of bungalows and two-bedroom brick dwellings.

Mr. Fletcher