“They were to get a stipend while working as missionaries, but you can’t get rich on that. Gregory thought they could use the money from the sales to start over whenever they moved back to the States.”
“These garage sales—the Hansens sold their clothes, too?”
“All the winter ones anyway. Gregory wanted to travel as light as possible. And the children were small and would have outgrown most of their things. They sold nearly everything they had.” Darlene paused and walked to the copier, which was making a rhythmic thwack, thwack as pages stacked in the sorter. She grabbed a pile, bringing them to her desk.
Linda stopped writing and watched Darlene sort pages. “The Hansens’ car was located in Cleveland, where I’ll be heading shortly. We have some idea of the path Nicole took. But we have no witnesses recalling a moving truck.”
“It wasn’t a moving truck,” Darlene said emphatically. “The main thing of value the Hansens were keeping was their car. They rented a small U-Haul to pull behind the Toyota.”
Damn! She probably switched the license plates. Pulling a U-Haul behind the vehicle made it harder to identify, Linda thought as Darlene kept talking.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t think to mention the trailer sooner,” Darlene said, stacking pages of the bulletin on her desk. “This whole ordeal has been a terrible shock. But I can help explain the confusion of witnesses. It was the end of the month, and there are apartments up the street. Around the same time the Hansens were moving, one of our members was also leaving, and they hired professional movers. They told me when they changed their address.”
This was starting to make sense. “So, eyewitnesses did see a U-Haul and a moving van, but for two separate events. Can I get the name and address of the parishioner who hired the moving company? I’ll want to verify those sightings.”
“Sure,” Darlene said.
Linda was angry at herself for missing the crucial details of the Hansens’ car and trailer. Even more troubling was the time lost, giving their suspect the chance to become another nondescript face in the crowd.
11
SATURDAY, MAY 25, 2002 LINCOLN, NEBRASKA U-HAUL RENTAL OFFICE
As soon as the Hansens’ Toyota was located, Linda and the team had gone to work, trying to find the local dealer they had used. There were over a dozen U-Haul rental outlets in the city, and halfway into her search, Linda took a call from a U-Haul manager. He was positive the Hansens had rented a trailer from him and insisted they meet.
Linda joined Bill Smith, the owner, that afternoon. He was tall, and his white hair had her gauging his age to be early sixties.
He produced the Hansens’ paperwork from a file and handed it to Linda. “I read the story in the Journal,” Smith explained. “Here’s the contract both Mr. and Mrs. Hansen signed.”
She pulled on latex gloves and opened a transparent plastic evidence bag. “I’ll need this—if we’re lucky forensics might be able to lift prints.” Linda bagged the contract. “They each came in to sign?”
“They had to, since they were both drivers. I needed to make sure their driver’s licenses were current. Here are the license copies and the credit card they used.”
Linda saw that the picture of Nicole Hansen was clear, but figured her appearance had been altered. She was drawn to her signature, attached to the contract. If forensics pulled a usable print or even a partial, a match with Pamela Jane Watts would be additional evidence, although they were compiling it inch by inch.
Smith gazed at Linda sadly. “Those poor little kids, it makes me sick thinking about it. Who would do such a thing?”
TUESDAY, MAY 28, 2002 CLEVELAND, OHIO U-HAUL RENTAL OFFICE
Following Memorial Day, Linda maneuvered her rental car into the U-Haul parking lot located in an industrial area of storage facilities and low-slung office complexes. She caught the odor of gas, oil, and tar on the breeze as she reached the front glass door. It buzzed an alert as she entered.
A heavyset, middle-aged man with twinkling blue eyes smiled at her. “May I help you, ma’am?”
“I’m Captain Linda Turner here to see Dave Ahlstrom.”
“That’s me. You’ve come a long way to discuss a previous customer,” he said, motioning for her to come around the front counter. “I’ve gotten all the materials together on the woman you mentioned. There’s a table and chairs in back here where we can talk privately.”
“Thank you,” she said, following him behind the counter.
Dave pulled a dog-eared folder off a metal filing cabinet, situating his girth in a plastic chair. “I have the original of the contract Mrs. Hansen signed when she returned the trailer. I do remember her, this Nicole Hansen.”
“Why is that?” said Linda, opening the folder.
“Most folks just turn in the vehicle they’ve rented, sign off, and leave. But Mrs. Hansen? She asked me right away if I knew of any car dealerships where she could sell her Toyota.”
“A Corolla, right?”
“Yep. Beige, four-door sedan. A 1995, I think. Looked to be a nice car.”
“Did you give her the names of any dealerships?”
“Yeah. The first one was a Toyota dealer, but she said something about being in a hurry, so I gave her Cars A Dealin’ up the road a bit,” Dave said, pointing northward.
Linda placed the document in another evidence bag. “All of this is evidence. You also mentioned on the phone you had surveillance video of Mrs. Hansen,” Linda said, thumbing through the remainder of folder contents.
“Yep, that’s on this cassette. You were lucky you came in when you did because we only keep these six months at most. It’s ready to view.”
“Let’s do that.” Linda put down her pen while Dave inserted a tape into the VCR, moving the TV on a metal-wheeled stand in front of her.
“There’s no sound, just the tape.” As an afterthought, Dave added, “And it’s date-stamped, if that’ll help.”
The tape was queued up to April 1, 2002. Linda watched intently as a woman wearing sunglasses entered the frame. Damn, Linda thought, those sunglasses are no good.
“Watch when I give her the papers to sign on return of the trailer,” Dave said, as if he knew what she was thinking. “She’ll remove her sunglasses. That should give you a better look.”
The picture was a bit fuzzy, and Linda peered closely. In black and white, she couldn’t tell if Nicole had changed her hair color, but she imagined that she had. She watched as she removed her glasses and accepted a pen. As she signed off on the contract, Nicole firmly planted her open right palm on the contract to steady it as she applied her signature with her left hand. Breathe, Linda told herself. Unless Nicole Hansen was ambidextrous, the pool of potential suspects had narrowed to ten percent of the total population.
“Can you rewind that and replay it?” Linda asked, her heart beating faster. If we could get a useable print off that contract . . .
“Sure,” Dave said. “I’ll play it forward, this time in slow motion.”
Linda moved nearer to the television screen and watched as Nicole Hansen held the contract with her right hand for a solid three to four seconds and signed with her left. Linda tried not to get overly excited, but this could be a big lead. Looking through the translucent plastic bag, Linda studied Gregory and Nicole Hansen’s signatures. We can compare handwriting samples, too.