Road Kill

By Carol L. Jenkner

Dr. Gerald O’Connor, known to friends as “Road Kill” O’Connor is a retired professor of archaeology and anthropology from Colorado State University. During his career, he became interested in animal skeletal structure and his penchant for collecting road-killed specimens in order to practice the skill of taxidermy earned him his nickname.

While watching the news one morning, he hears a report of a skull found along Interstate 90, not far from his home. There is no evidence of a body, only the skull. The only things authorities can tell is that the skull is likely that of an African American woman in her twenties and it has been there for many years.

Recalling a cold case in his vast collection of notebooks, O’Connor begins his search for information about this victim. An expert witness for law enforcement throughout his career, O’Connor begins to piece together other missing persons’ cases and a pattern emerges. He concludes a serial killer has been at work for four decades. It’s time this murderer was brought to justice and Road Kill O’Connor is just the man to get the job done.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Aug 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665709002

Carol L. Jenkner

Carol L. Jenkner is a graduate of Oklahoma State University with degrees in Family and Consumer Science and Child Development. She is a retired teacher and freelance writer, currently working as an education director at a local history museum. The author’s previous work includes the book, Road Kill, the first of her novels about Dr. Gerald “Road Kill” O’Connor. She feels driven to write the running narratives that form in her head as she travels the back roads of Kansas in search of historic places, ghost towns, cemeteries, and notable sites along the Santa Fe Trail. Her inspiration comes from sights along the highway, snatches of conversation, cold cases, and news reports of odd events. She shares her home with her opinionated elder felines.

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Copyright © 2021 Carol L. Jenkner.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

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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.

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views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-6657-0899-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-0900-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021913055

Archway Publishing rev. date: 8/4/2021

CONTENTS

Prologue

1   Present Day

2   Three Years Earlier

3   Four Years Earlier

4   Present Day

5   DeLisa

6   The Mind of a Serial Killer

7   Thinking Hard

8   1974

9   Four Years Earlier

10   Three Years Earlier

11   Present Day

12   Blast From the Past

13   Present Day

14   Maggie Jo

15   Reflections

16   The Postmaster

17   Kate Morgan

18   Kate Tells Her Story

19   O’Connor’s Search

20   Psychopath

21   Megan’s Diary

22   On The Way To Cheyenne

23   Marian Rogers’ Story

24   Who Winks Anymore?

25   Nikki Heads Out

26   An Accident

27   In The Hospital

28   Déjà vu

29   Small Disasters

30   Daniel Brown

31   Discoveries At The Lake

32   Defining A Serial Killer

33   To Casper

34   Amy

35   Jude Bowen’s Input

36   A Secluded Cabin

37   A Different View Of Megan

38   Guys Who Own Old Police Cars

39   Old Cop Cars

40   Returns

41   Ray Meets Nikki

42   Headed For The Auction

43   Another Body

44   Needle In A Haystack

45   Following Leads

46   Review

47   Auction Memories

48   Nikki Spills The Beans

49   Watching Nikki

50   Watching

51   Ray Comes Back

52   Bowen Flees

53   Bowen’s Office

54   Across The State

55   Didn’t Know Her At All

56   Winds Of Change

57   Hard To Hear

58   A Little Family History

59   Homecoming

60   Bowen’s Aunt

61   Letters

62   Missed

63   Letters

64   New Beginnings

Epilogue

This book is dedicated to my children, Sarah and Alex

PROLOGUE

1974

She lay there in the bright autumn sun, staring up at the wide expanse of blue Wyoming sky. She grinned, face turned to receive the full force of the sunlight. Nestled in the prairie grass, she was sheltered from others occasionally stopping nearby. As day turned to night she continued to lie in her comfortable bed of grasses. The noise of the highway fifty yards away quieted to a few cars and trucks swishing by in the dark. A different kind of sound replaced the sounds made by humans. Rustlings in the grass signaled the passage of nocturnal beings. A cold nose nudged her cheekbone. The wind picked up signaling a change in the weather. The wind began to blow out of the north, mixing with moisture coming up from the south and the first snowflakes of the season began to fall. She continued to lie quietly, watching the snow swirl around her, slowly at first then with more fury. It fell into her eyes, nose and open mouth, and by mid-afternoon of the following day snow had covered her completely. And so she continued day after day, season after season, any chance at rescue long since past.

1

PRESENT DAY

The word skull caught his attention as he listened absent-mindedly to the morning news. He reached for his satellite remote, backed the story up to its beginning, and gave his full attention to the predictably pretty reporter standing in an open field of tall prairie grass, Devil’s Tower in the background. He recognized the spot along Interstate 90 out near the Black Hills National Forest. Not far from here, he thought to himself. He turned up the sound straining to catch every word, which were garbled by the aggressive wind buffeting the recording equipment.

The perfectly coiffed reporter didn’t bat an eye, but bracing against the wind, and maintaining that deadpan look they all practiced for serious news, she reported: The mysterious skull found last week by passing motorists in the area you see behind me has not yet been identified. However, we do have a few new details to share with our viewers. The skull has been determined to be that of an African American female in her mid-twenties. It has also been determined that it is not from an archaeological site, nor from a Native American burial site. According to early analysis by the state medical examiner’s office the skull is twentieth century, but at this time further studies are being done to narrow down the time of death. The body has not been found, hampering efforts to identify the woman. A similar occurrence in Kansas a couple of years ago turned out to be a Halloween prank, the skull removed from a medical school cadaver.

The cameras moved from the blonde reporter, and he lost interest in whatever else the morning news might offer up. His hands were busy with his latest taxidermy project, but his mind was still on the skull. The news always gave the sensational, attention-getting information, but never provided the specifics that interested him.

Dr. Gerald O’Connor, known to most of his friends as Road Kill O’Conner because of his hobby, was a retired professor of archaeology and anthropology at Colorado State University. In the course of his career as a field archaeologist, O’Connor had stumbled into his hobby as he struggled to gain a clearer understanding of the animal skeletons he unearthed. He began visiting with animal specialists including a few taxidermists. What they did fascinated him and he took up the offer of some lessons in the practice of taxidermy from on old hermit who appreciated his interest.

O’Connor was a tall slender man nearing sixty years of age and perpetually hunched over partly because of his height and partly because of the constant stooping in the course of his long career as a field archaeologist. Things seemed destined to remain the same, since his hobby also required long periods of bending over his creations as he tended to the meticulous details that brought the animals back to life — in a manner of speaking. He had fine, white-blond hair that settled around his head like a halo, a tendency that was made worse by the fact that he pulled gently at his hair when he pondered some vexing problem. His uniform consisted of baggy khakis, either shorts or long pants depending on the weather, and loose-fitting plaid shirts over plain white T-shirts. He favored athletic shoes around the house, but preferred laced ankle boots out in the field because they supported his ankles on rough terrain and protected against snakebite. His wife used to joke that she was the only one within their circle of friends who had ever seen him in anything else; he didn’t own a suit or, God forbid, a tie, although he did remember wearing such a thing when he and Peggy got married.

As for the nickname Road Kill— rather than kill a beautiful animal just so he could practice this new interest, he picked up road-killed specimens in good condition to practice on. There was no end to the kidding he’d received when word spread that he was collecting road kill and putting it in his freezer until he could use it. Peggy wasn’t one of the kidders; she was downright angry when she found the skunk wrapped in plastic in her basement freezer. He had forgotten to tell her about it and she found out how he’d earned his new nickname the hard way. He’d never seen her so angry, but as was typical for her, she didn’t stay mad for long and was soon laughing good-naturedly about it among their friends. She did, however, have a new chest freezer delivered to the house and placed the old one in the garage the following week. This was his punishment.

2

THREE YEARS EARLIER

File#1-1974: Crawford, DeLisa. Disappeared while on a cross country trip, 24 years old, never found.

File #2-1980: Andrews, Sue. 28-year-old mother of two sons, Brian, 4, and Ricky, 2. Mother and sons disappeared while on a trip to the grocery store, never found.

File #3-1985: Brown, Daniel. Disappeared while on a motorcycle trip with family, 19 years old, never found.

File#4-1997: Becker, Amy. Disappeared while jogging, 24 years old, never found.

Dr. O’Connor flipped through the boxes of files as he cleaned out his office, preparing to leave it for the last time. These cold cases were kept as reminders of his failures. They were cases he’d been asked to assist on and that had never been solved, mostly because no bodies had ever been found. He periodically searched databases and newspaper articles looking for reports of bodies being unearthed or washing up on the banks of rivers or lakes. So far these four cases were still unsolved, still without bodies to indicate their fate.

He looked around one last time before stepping out into the hall and locking the door of his old office behind him. Kids from the college would come in tomorrow morning and carry out the rest of the boxes and load them into the waiting rental van. He couldn’t quite put a name to this feeling he was experiencing. He was jumpy; no, he was elated, excited, regretful and yes, anxious.

Well, it wasn’t every day that a renowned professor at the top of his profession took early retirement from a major university and his field practice. He’d kept working after Peggy died, but his heart just wasn’t in it anymore. He decided he needed a complete change—a change of scenery, a change of occupation, a change of lifestyle. And he’d found it.

While on a summer archaeology trip a year ago, examining a location where there was going to be a new recreational site, he’d stumbled across this little town in northeastern Wyoming. It was not far from the well-known Devil’s Tower and it wasn’t far from the South Dakota border and Mount Rushmore. It was amazing to him that the little slice of history had been so slow to change, that it was still a tiny place with fewer than a hundred year-round inhabitants.

Nervous anxiety finally gave way to pure excitement as O’Connor left the building and headed across campus to his car, in his space, a space that would have his name painted out and another painted in its place by week’s end. Jobs like his were few and far between and there had been a number of qualified applicants for the post.

The tiny town, his eventual destination, had welcomed him with open arms — or so it had seemed. After his work at the archaeological location was wrapped up, he’d found himself traveling along a strange road in gathering darkness. Time had gotten away from him during an impulsive trek around the base of Devil’s Tower. He’d known he didn’t have time for the whole length of the path, but he’d miscalculated and found night falling. He hadn’t known where he was going when he reached his car in one of the established parking lots.

After he left the park, he’d followed another impulse and instead of heading for Interstate 90, the interstate that would take him to State Highway 59 and on south to Fort Collins, he’d turned to the northeast and onto Highway 24. Beginning to wish he’d stuck to his plan to head home and with darkness falling rapidly around him, he’d suddenly spotted a welcoming old-style neon Vacancy sign glowing in the dark.

The place was a post-World War II-era motel and it was lit up like a Christmas tree even at the height of the summer. It was a charming, and surprising, invitation to a weary traveler. Stopping outside the main building, he exited his car and entered an air-conditioned oasis. Not only was the place a motel, but it also appeared to be someone’s family home. The lobby was decorated comfortably in shabby mid-century furniture. There were low upholstered chairs with blonde oak legs, a deep couch that looked a lot like the one his mother had owned when he was growing up, and a large modern television. Scattered around the room were giant pillows for additional seating; they reminded him of the ones he and Peggy had had, the only seating in the apartment living room that first year of marriage. There was also a small snack bar, a 1960s tiki-style bar with crackers and cheese, bananas and apples, and a refrigerator that held a selection of pop, fruit juices, and bottled water. It all seemed to operate on the honor system; there was a sign with prices inviting guests to help themselves and put their money in the jar on the back of the counter.

As O’Connor approached the counter, a man who appeared to be in his late thirties jumped up from his spot in front of the television and went round the motel’s customer desk. May I help you? he asked.

I’m looking for a place to stay for the night and saw your sign, replied Dr. O’Connor. This is a motel, isn’t it?

Indeed it is! laughed the man. And we’re happy to be able to accommodate you. Noticing the doctor looking around, he added, This is also our family home and a popular hang-out for our little town. There are my family, some of our guests and a couple of our town folks. We’ve got the biggest television in town, air conditioning and we have satellite!

I’m relieved to see that snack bar, too! replied O’Connor. I haven’t eaten since lunch and some cheese and crackers and a piece of fruit will be perfect.

My family also has the diner next door and although we’re closed for the evening, I’ll bet my mother-in-law would be happy to make you a sandwich. An older woman looked up to see if her services were needed.

This place is an absolute Godsend! said O’Connor, I’d love a sandwich if it’s not too much trouble.

No trouble at all, replied the woman, getting to her feet and motioning to one of the teens in the group. Come on, Robbie! Help me get this poor starving man something to eat! A lanky teenage boy joined the woman and they left through the back. Shall I bring your meal here or would you like to eat in your room? she called out before leaving.

I think I’ll eat here, replied the doctor. I like this show and I haven’t seen it for a couple of weeks. Maybe someone can fill me in during a commercial break. A chorus of voices assured him that they would.

The motel owner showed O’Connor to a room unlike he’d seen before. Wow! I’m speechless! exclaimed the doctor. I love what you’ve done with this old place!

The man laughed and explained: We bought this motel and diner as a family venture. We wanted to get out of the city and raise our kids in a small town. We stumbled onto this place during a family vacation to Devil’s Tower, saw it was for sale and began to make inquiries. We returned home to crunch some numbers, do a little more research and within three months, the place was ours.

Surely it didn’t come like this, with this comfortable and welcoming décor? queried O’Connor.

No, we’ve been working on this for a couple of years now. It wasn’t run down when we bought it, in fact it had been well cared for, but my mother and my wife love flea markets and both had storage sheds full of their finds. This place was made for us. My wife’s mother and father run the diner. My wife and my mother are in charge of decorating and keeping the place clean and I’m the financial manager and all-around handy man. Name’s Bill Wylie and it’s nice to have you with us, finished the man with an outstretched hand.

O’Connor took the proffered hand, shook it firmly and said, You know, I think I just might stay a couple of days and have a look around. May I keep the room for that long?

Sure, no problem! We’ve actually got a small tour group coming in at the end of the week, but you’re good till then.

Bill Wylie handed over the key to the room and left him to get settled in. With a sigh of happiness, O’Connor took a closer look at his surroundings. The queen-sized bed was made up with light blue sheets and a handmade quilt. There was a comfortable club chair in one corner under a 1960s lamp and a small blonde oak end table. Surprisingly the floors were bare hardwood, something you never saw in these roadside motels. Probably easier to keep clean, he thought to himself. The dresser was another mid-century blonde oak piece, with a large mirror, broad top and deep drawers. He peeped into the bathroom and found it was tiled in 1960s blue tile and, of all things, a blue tub deep enough to soak in with a shower overhead. The

fluffy towels, rug and shower curtain were also blue. This must be the blue room, he laughed to himself.

His stomach growled and he remembered the promised sandwich and friendly group of people in front of the television. I’ve probably missed the show by now, but as I recall, I like the one that follows it, too. Drawn by the food and company, he left the room and headed back to the office. He paused in the brightly lit courtyard and surveyed his surroundings. It was far enough from the cities to actually see the stars overhead. And it was quiet here, too. Standing out in the darkness, he could actually hear the sound of laughter in the office as the group around the television responded to something they were watching. What a great place, he thought. Tomorrow I’m going to have to see what else this place has to offer. A coyote howled in the distance and suddenly Fort Collins seemed a lifetime away. A feeling of contentment settled over him as he entered the office and was welcomed by a chorus of voices, people introducing themselves and offering hands to shake. This may be exactly what I’ve been looking for.

3

FOUR YEARS EARLIER

Up early next morning and after an excellent night’s sleep on the surprisingly comfortable bed, O’Connor stepped out into the early morning light to find the parking lot full. It didn’t take long to figure out where the people were because the smells of frying bacon and sausage wafted toward him from the open diner. His stomach grumbled in anticipation of a big breakfast. If it was anything like the simple sandwich of the night before, this small diner was going to be a very pleasant surprise indeed.

As he entered the door of the diner, he was greeted by people he’d met the night before. The place was packed! But he soon found a spot at a long table where breakfast was being served family style. A teenaged girl set a glass of ice water on the table before him, offered him coffee and a menu if he wanted something besides what was already available. I’ll have what they’re having! he said gesturing at the people seated around him. She quoted him a price for all he could eat from the offerings on the table before him. There were scrambled eggs, link sausages, crispy strips of bacon, biscuits, gravy and toast. There was also a tray of fruit as well as carafes of orange juice making the rounds. The talk ebbed and flowed around him as he tucked into his breakfast. He listened with half an ear, answered questions directed at him and heard talk of the weather, farm and ranch costs, crop and cattle prices and a myriad of other conversations about the surrounding area.

Then, his attention was caught by a discussion at a nearby table about the disappearance of a young man. The men discussing the case appeared to be law enforcement personnel — the tan uniforms, shiny black shoes and gun belts gave them away. Listening in, he assumed they were talking about one of his cold cases, so of course he had to go introduce himself!

Forgetting the plate of food in front of him, he got up and stepped over to the table. I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation, he began, were you referring to the disappearance of Daniel Brown? He hastened to introduce himself, I’m Dr. Gerald O’Connor and I did some work on that case — in fact it’s still in my file of cold cases. Has Danny been found?

Sheriff Jenkins. A big man introduced himself, sticking out his hand for a handshake. These guys here are Ron Smith and Bob Curtis, Wyoming Highway Patrol, and this is Jude Bowen, local police force. The others laughed at the joke, but the truth was that Jude Bowen was the only policeman on a force of one, a retired highway patrolman who’d taken on the job of taking care of the tiny town where he lived.

One of the highway patrolmen spoke up, I remember you, Dr. O’Connor. You’ve worked on several cases for this state. What’re you doing up here — working on a case?

No, well, I am up here in the line of duty, but I’ve been working on the new recreational site west of here — as an archaeologist, not as a crime fighter.

The sheriff said, To answer your question, no, Daniel Brown hasn’t been found. But, hey, pull up a chair and join the conversation.

Everyone shifted chairs to make room for him and he reached over and grabbed his coffee, nodding to the waitress that he was done with breakfast but needed a refill on the coffee. As they talked about various cases in and around the area, he realized that a couple more of his cold cases were from this area.

Wasn’t it over at Gillette where that mother and her two sons disappeared? I seem to recollect that they found blood in the car but no sign of her or the boys, said O’Connor.

What was the name on that one? asked one of the highway patrolmen.

Sue. Sue Andrews and her boys, Brian and Ricky, replied Bowen. "That was a sad one. We never found more than the car and the blood. That was back in 1980, wasn’t it? I was with the highway patrol when that happened. You guys are all too young to really remember it as anything but a cold case. But I remember it because it was one of the saddest cases