So Weeps the Willow - 34. Salix Babylonica - 12 - 11:31 am

Salix Babylonica - 12 – 11:31 am

The gay bunting erects his white crest, and gives utterance to the joy he feels in the presence of his brooding mate; the willow grouse on the rock crows his challenge aloud; each floweret, chilled by the night air, expands its pure petals; the gentle breeze shakes from the blades of grass the heavy dewdrops.

John James Audubon

Ben walked into the house calling out Clay’s name. There was no answer, so he hung up his coat and carried his bag down the hall heaving it onto the kitchen table. It sprawled to one side and a cascade of folders came streaming out. Swearing, Ben righted the bag, pulled out his laptop, and after opening it, bent down and began picking up the files. He had so much in this bag, and there was even more in the electronic file.

He wondered where Clay could be.

After the computer was opened and ready, Ben downloaded the file from the BCA in St. Paul. His jaw dropped open at the sheer magnitude of the folder. There were at least six gigabytes of data. This was an enormous job to tackle. He needed to do something first though.

He texted Clay asking him where he was. The paralegal made a sandwich, and checked his phone for other messages. He then saw the file still hadn’t finished opening.

Ben noticed there was an email sitting in his inbox from the Minneapolis Police Department. He was curious about what that could be, but finally the download finished. He began looking through the materials.

There were Excel spreadsheets with GPS information. This was the tracking feature of Jake Ogden’s cell phone, and literally traced the man’s last few steps in his final days. The request had only been for a month prior to his death, so it seemed even more amazing to see this much detail.

Text messages were in pdf files that were hundreds of pages in length. There was another spreadsheet with his call data, which wasn’t nearly as voluminous. Ben noted that in Jake’s last three days on earth he’d only made two phone calls; one to his mother and one to Eddie.

There were several missed calls to his phone after his death. That made Ben sigh.

Since it was smart phone, there was a digital history of his browser activity. There were several folders of visited materials. But the biggest folders were his photo and videos, the ones he took himself.

Ben worked through the files mostly making notations about the size and kinds of data pulled from Jake’s phone. As he did so, he thought about how the murderer’s phone would probably place pinpoint the man in time and space for Jake’s death. The texts and phone messages, emails and postings would provide the motive. Smart phones practically did all the detective work, except when you didn’t know whodunnit.

Hadn’t they figured it out though? Wasn’t Eddie the obvious perpetrator of both crimes? If they could get a hold of Eddie’s phone, it would provide the damning evidence of his murder of both men.

Hell, just the tracking records plugged into a mapping system would give authorities a treasure trail leading to the most important sites; Jake’s apartment, Wylie’s storage spot, the bridge where he was taken, and even the visit to Steve’s apartment to plant those sex toys.

Ben paused in his musings and checked his phone. Clay hadn’t responded yet. He sent another text to the teen, and then one to Rush. The one to Rush was brief and to the point.

“More info than I can get to in a day. Call me in a bit.”

Ben returned to the files and started looking at the videos. They were especially poignant since you could hear Jake’s voice in the background. Most were of Eddie, though a couple did feature Nats horsing around at a bar. In many of them, deceased man’s voice was slurred and boozy. The last one, made only a month before his death, was at a park and it was footage of Nats attempting to twerk.

Both of them were obviously inebriated.

It was sad.

Ben opened up the photos folder and saw there were hundreds. He switched the viewer from list to icon. This way he could look and see what kinds of pictures they were. A few were memes, photos with captions that other people had sent Jake.

Most were photos he’d taken himself though. Many were of food or trees, happy snaps of people and a few of dogs. There were a couple that looked out of place. Ben opened one of them.

It was a pot, a kind of container, and it was brightly painted and oddly shaped. There were bulges along one side, and the paint was garish with primary contrasting colors that screamed into the camera. Four of the photos were of pots like that, and then there were two pots that looked more conventional. They had more of the traditional hour-glass shape and painted muted pastel colors. They were elegant and yet had some very classic lines.

Ben realized these had to be pics of Nats’ work. She was a potter and so of course, Jake took some photos of her work. They were really quite exquisite and so different than anything he’d seen at art fairs or even in galleries. Not that he went to art galleries much, but he used to once in a while.

Rush wasn’t an art gallery type of guy, and even art fairs made him cringe.

Ben wrote up a long email with some general details about the contents of Jake’s phone.

He checked his phone and Clay still hadn’t responded.

Ben opened up the second large folder, the one labeled Wylie, and it was significantly smaller. There were emails from a free provider and the call records from the phone company. Steve’s phone hadn’t been found, so there were no texts, photos, videos, or messages to review. There was a large tracking spreadsheet, which Ben noticed but didn’t open.

He looked at the emails and most were spam. There weren’t many personal ones, except a couple with something attached. They were from Wyliecoyot33@gmail.com and sent to the same address. Ben did that occasionally as well, to easily move photos or links from his phone to his laptop or tablet.

Ben clicked on one of the emails with the telltale paperclip icon, and it opened. He then opened the attachment and saw it was a piece of pottery, very delicate looking and had the same color shades as the ones on Jake’s phone.

That was odd.

Ben clicked on it, and a photo opened that displayed another pot, again, delicately painted, subtle, and yet visually arresting. This one had the word “Sold” splashed across it in red. In his email, dated back in June, it said, “I can’t believe I did it. I’m a real artist now!!!!!!!!!”

Ben blinked. Rush had said Wylie was a potter, even if the studio space was empty. Furthermore, there hadn’t been any pottery found at his apartment. Maybe the man had stuff somewhere else.

“A kiln,” he said out loud. “I bet they need a kiln to fire these pots and there isn’t room or utilities for such things.” Ben considered the reports and the pics from The Warrens website. It simply didn’t have these resources.

Ben continued reading emails and explored Steve Wylie’s personality like no one in this case had been able to. Not until today. Apparently.

***

“I feel weird watching his house from behind a parked car,” Carl whispered into Clay’s ear.

“We don’t want to alert him.”

Carl tugged on his friend’s sleeve. “If they’d found something in this guy’s basement, wouldn’t he already be in custody?” Carl had made this point several times on the way over. When they arrived by Uber, after a damned long bus ride, they found the neighborhood was quiet and Jay Ogden’s house wasn’t the hotbed of activity they’d expected. Since disembarking from the ride-share, they’d walked around the area looking and ended up behind Jake’s dad’s house.

“I suppose.” Clay had to admit. He realized this was a fool’s errand, as his grandparents would sometimes say.

“I’m pretty sure Ben and Rush are missing something.”

Carl said, “Maybe we should go back to your house.”

“Let’s talk to this guy first,” Clay decided. “Maybe he knows something about where this basement is.”

Carl just shook his head as they walked slowly up the house. Clay climbed the steps to the front door, but before he could knock, the it opened.

“Yeah,” the middle-aged man asked. He was rather handsome for an old dude. He had to be in his fifties or so.

“Um,” Clay started, and suddenly his mouth went dry. He tried to speak, but it came out as a cough.

“Are you lost?” the man asked, shrinking back. “I don’t recognize you from the neighborhood. You’re not Josie Wyandotte’s grandkids are you?”

“No,” Clay said.

“We’re doing a school project,” Carl said, stepping up next to Clay. “A survey.”

“Is that right?” Ogden said. “What’s it about?”

“Crime and how the police are handling community safety.” Carl puffed out his chest.

“Interesting,” he said, starting to shut the door. “Not today. Thank you.”

As the gap between the door and the casing grew smaller, Clay panicked. He put his foot on the threshold and said loudly, “Rush Romer is my dad.”

Jay Ogden paused, he looked a little lost, and then frowning he asked. “Why are you here?”

“Because, we want to find your son’s killer.”

***

With freshly opened cans of soda pop in hand and a plate of cookies on the coffee table, the boys watched as Jake’s father took a seat on his chair. They were sitting on an old sofa next to each other and waiting for the older man to address them.

“I really shouldn’t talk to you about this.”

Clay spoke first. “It’s not official or anything, but I’ve been helping my dad.”

“That doesn’t sound professional,” Ogden answered. He was even more lost now, staring off into space for a moment and then added, “I just spoke with your father earlier today and I understand there are no real suspects yet.”

He rubbed his face and continued. “I guess it can’t hurt. What do you want to know?”

Clay started asking general questions about Jake. Jay Ogden answered with some difficulty, as if even speaking about his son was a trial.

“What do you think of Eddie?” Clay asked. He watched the man carefully not knowing what to expect.

Ogden didn’t answer at first. Then he said, “He’s a wild child and he wasn’t good for Jake. Eddie and Jake were a lot alike, but I always thought Jake would’ve cleaned up his act if he wasn’t hanging around losers like Eddie.”

“What about the other people in Jake’s life?” Carl asked abruptly. “He had a new boyfriend, didn’t he?”

Jay Ogden looked startled, and then a little hesitant. “I never asked about things like that. My daughter said Jake was getting sober, not that he was dating anyone else.” He tilted his head and wiped his cheek. “I hoped he’d find someone decent, I guess.”

Carl elbowed the other teen, and Clay looked at his friend. There was a sad look in his eye. This was a dry well. Carl saw it, and now Clay did too, and so he changed tactics.

“What about other friends?” Clay asked.

Jake’s father seemed to brighten up. “Oh, now Natalie is a different story. She’s wild too, but a hard worker. I’ve never seen a person work so hard at her hobby. She took it very seriously.”

“So, Natalie was a good influence on Jake?” Carl asked.

“I wouldn’t say that,” the man responded, and shook his head. “They all liked to party, Jake and his friends, and Nats kept up with them. When the party was over, she would get back to work. That always impressed me about her.”

“Are you talking about the restaurant?” Clay asked. “She’s a server, I think.”

“Not her job,” Ogden said, shaking his head. “Her pottery stuff.”

“She was pretty good, huh?” Carl asked.

“I didn’t say that.” The man smiled sadly. “Not until recently. No, she really worked on her art, but it was pretty weird and not too interesting. At least, it wasn’t to me.”

“You say ‘until recently’?” Clay asked.

Jay Ogden stood and gestured for the boys to follow. They did so and he led them down the hall to a small, cramped office. Along one wall was a tall bookcase, filled with hardcover books and wooden decoys, stuffed grouse and partridges. There were lighted sconces above the huge piece of furniture.

Ogden was pointing to two large pots, one on either end of the wooden case. The one on the left was square and painted bright yellow with several dark green squiggly lines converging on a point in the middle of the pot. It was awkward-looking and rather ugly.

“That’s the first one she gave me a couple of years ago.”

Ogden then waved to the other side. It was a delicate, graceful vase with a rich lavender finish that glowed in the lamplight. “That’s the one she gave me last fall. They look like they were made by two different people, right?”

Clay looked at Carl. Both boys were confused. Jake’s dad continued to ramble on sadly, talking about his son. It was depressing.

Not long thereafter, the two teens said their goodbyes and left Ogden, who was getting a bit weepy now.

Clay called Rush, but he didn’t get an answer.

“Rush,” Clay said breathlessly. “You need to call me right away. There’s something very strange and I think you should know about it. I’m not sure exactly why. Anyway, call me.”

Clay left a similar message on Ben’s phone, and he didn’t answer either. The two boys waited for the Uber they’d summoned. There was something important in what the old guy told them, but what exactly?

***

Ben looked at his phone and saw Clay was calling him. There was a parking lot ahead and he was about to pull in, when the buzzing stopped. A few moments later, the phone blinked a notice that a voice mail was waiting.

He’d listen to the message when he got to the apartment complex. There was no reason to stop driving now.

Coincidentally, it was good luck that Wylie and Nats were both artisan potters. Nats would know which kilns in the area would do work on a piecemeal basis. The calls he’d made to pottery places hadn’t been promising. Most of the places only fired pots for their clients who rented space from them. There had been a shop down in Burnsville that would take greenware, pottery that hadn’t been finished, and fire it. It was over twenty miles away, and Ben figured there had to be somewhere closer.

He turned onto a side street, following his GPS. Nats building wasn’t far from Jake’s. In fact, it was probably only a couple of blocks away. From Rush’s description, Gallivant’s was also close, perhaps half a mile. Lots of artsy types lived in the area, and Ben saw several front yards with welded steel statues and things. The Walker Sculpture Garden was on the other side of Loring Park from here. He parallel parked on the street a block from Nats’ building.

Ben picked up his phone and listened to a message from Rush. He and Hammond were headed from the sheriff’s department to Jake’s apartment. He’d barely missed them. According to the time on the message notification, they’d been nearby only about fifteen minutes ago.

He then listened to the voice mail from Clay. The message the teen left was a bit odd, something about a clue, though Ben couldn’t understand what that meant. He heard the strain in his voice though, and it bothered him.

Ben hit the callback button and waited as the phone rang once and then right to voice mail.

Ben said, “Clay, I’m not sure what you’re doing, but call me back. Or call Rush.” And he added, “I missed you at home just now. I’m asking Jake’s friend about kilns. I’ll be home in a few. Bye.”

Grabbing his bag, Ben stepped out of his car and headed to the apartment building.

It felt like things were moving now.

An email came into Ben’s inbox from the Hennepin County District Attorney’s office. Attached to the email was a report from the harvesting of Jake’s phone. It had been heavily redacted and produced in the civil case, but now the names of the parties communicating was included.

Ben didn’t read it, which was unfortunate.

Jacob Ogden 10:13 pm: Are you doing okay?

Natalie Howe 10:17 pm: I’m fine, why?

Jacob Ogden 11:19 pm: Do you feel bad about it?

Natalie Howe 11:21 pm: What are you talking about?

Jacob Ogden 11:31 pm: I worry about you. He was a good guy.

Natalie Howe 11:34 pm: He was just someone to hang out with.

Jacob Ogden 11:37 pm: You really cared for him. His disappearance has affected you deeply. That’s okay.

Natalie Howe 12:02 am: No, it didn’t.

Natalie Howe 12:13 am: At one time, he was someone I loved. That changed. He was just somebody I knew. After what he did, he deserves it. What makes you think it really matters?

Jacob Ogden 12:18 am: He was special. He was, special, to you. Can’t you admit it?

Natalie Howe 12:23 am: He was, um, what you said. Am I sorry he’s gone? Of course. He didn’t deserve to…it makes me sad. It fucking kills me.

Jacob Ogden 12:33 am: He meant something to you. I could see it when I watched you interact. The guy mattered, regardless of what happened.

Jacob Ogden 12:35 am: You only say that because he’s connected to you.

Natalie Howe 12:37 am: Connected? What does that mean?

Jacob Ogden 12:39 am: Fuck you. Fuck you, you goddamned piece of shit. I can’t take this anymore. I know what happened. Fucking-A.

Jacob Ogden 1:47 am: I know what you did.

Jacob Ogden 6:53 am: I’m not going to say anything to anyone else. Obviously, no one would ever think you had anything to do with his being gone. Let’s just say, I’m not going to ‘rock the boat’, but consider this. If cops start thinking things are odd or if there are questions, I’m going to talk to you again. I won’t be part of this. You did it, and I know it. So, fuck you. Remember that.

Natalie Howe 7:52 am: Be cool