Darlene sat back in her chair, a pensive look in her eyes. She sat up abruptly, the palm of a hand slapping her forehead. “With all that’s happened, I completely forgot this.” She cleared her throat and continued, “Last year, when Nebraska played Notre Dame, Gregory was involved in an automobile accident. I’m not sure of the date, but it was soon after 9/11. You know how crazy this town gets during football season.”
Linda leaned in closer. She understood rabid Husker fans, the entire state coming together in support of the football team. Ranked number one and two respectively, Nebraska and Notre Dame last year were playing each other for the first time in four decades. Bodies spilling from packed bars onto teeming streets had Linda and her department working extra hours on security detail. The accident only added to the controlled mayhem. Linda was intrigued by Darlene’s fresh perspective on the tragedy and asked her to continue.
“I’ve tried to block out details, because Gregory could barely speak of it. He had an evening meeting the Thursday before the game, down by the university. Because this was Notre Dame, downtown had large crowds, especially in the bars. On his way home, a group of very drunk frat boys ran out into the middle of the street, and one of them lay down in a traffic lane. It was dark. Gregory didn’t see him and ran over the kid, who died a few days later. Gregory was devastated.”
Linda wanted knowledge on the state of Gregory and of the parents. “As I remember, the parents of the student tried to blame the reverend—”
“Yes,” Darlene interrupted hoarsely. “The father showed up here shortly after the boy’s funeral, accusing Gregory of deliberately running over his son. Threats were made, and Gregory was genuinely compassionate, trying to help. The guy screamed at Gregory that as a father himself, he would learn what it felt like to have a child taken from you. It was a terrible confrontation.” Darlene stopped to brush aside a tear. “I’m sorry, this is more emotional now. The one thing that made us fearful was how he continued to intimidate Gregory on email. But Gregory said he was ‘taking the high road’ by not engaging this very angry individual and refused to call the police. The accident had a terrible effect on Gregory. I think it’s the main reason he wanted to do missionary work, simply to get away from the constant harassment.”
Linda glanced at her watch. “We’ll need Reverend Martin’s computer to access those emails. I’ll call forensics right now to retrieve it.” She returned the notepad and pen to her purse. “This interview has shed light on many of the questions we have, Darlene. I can retrieve the material, but if you remember even the smallest detail, here’s my card.”
5
THURSDAY, MAY 16, 2002 LINCOLN, NEBRASKA OUTSIDE NORTHEAST POLICE HEADQUARTERS
The results of the autopsy and forensic tests had taken several days. A throng of reporters threw questions at Linda in front of the Northeast Police Headquarters. In a quick succession, word of the gruesome triple murders tore across the flatlands, spawning unbridled rumors, conspiracy theories, and hearsay. Fielding questions in the bright spring sun, Linda spotted reporters from throughout Nebraska, Iowa, Kansas, South Dakota, and Colorado. It hadn’t turned into a media circus, at least not yet, but CNN and FOX had both sent correspondents.
“The victims have been positively identified as the Reverend Gregory Hansen, age forty, and his children, Jacob, age three, and Elizabeth, eighteen months—”
“How long have they been dead?” a boyish and chiseled male reporter asked.
“Sir, if you’ll just be patient, I’ll get to that.” Linda smiled and nodded. “The coroner believes the victims died approximately two months ago, estimating the time of death in late March.”
“How did they die?” someone else shouted.
Linda kept her genial smile in place. Her first press conference, she needed to keep things on track.
“The coroner’s report indicated Reverend Hansen died of blunt force trauma based on the skull fractures present, but we haven’t gotten specifics. Most likely from a heavy object of some kind. The autopsy also revealed that all three victims had substantial amounts of the drug Ambien, a prescription sleep aid, in their systems. The children would definitely have died from a massive overdose.”
“Fatal for the reverend?” the chiseled reporter inquired, his smile dazzling.
Linda didn’t recognize him as a local reporter but identified his flirtatious behavior. She was well-versed in using her feminine charms to spur a suspect into talking. His enigmatic charisma, however, would not work in his favor. “Yes, we believe the amount was lethal for Reverend Hansen.”
“How were the murders carried out?” an out-of-state reporter yelled.
Observing the red lights of recording cameras, Linda carefully phrased her response. “We are basing our assumptions on the autopsies, and we speculate the Ambien was mixed in with food or beverages to mask the taste. Let me be clear, we do not have proof that was the case, but it makes the most sense.”
“Is Mrs. Hansen a suspect?” a brunette female reporter from one of the Omaha stations asked.
“Nicole Hansen’s whereabouts are unknown, and she remains a person of interest we wish to talk to.”
“Do you think Mrs. Hansen killed her family?” The same young brunette tilted her head, her lacquered hair unmovable in the brisk breeze.
“As I said, Nicole Hansen is a person of interest. We are asking for the public’s help regarding Mrs. Hansen’s whereabouts, and any pertinent knowledge related to this case—”
“Captain Turner—”
Another reporter started to interrupt, and Linda held up a slender hand and finished her sentence.
“We have set up the following telephone number,” she said and repeated the number twice before continuing. “If anyone saw something or heard something, we want to talk to you. We believe there is information out in the community that may be helpful in solving the murders of the Hansen family.”
The same reporter persisted. “Captain Turner—”
Linda held up both hands palms out. “No further questions. Chief Langston will provide you with additional details.”
Reporters began shouting, “Chief Langston!” as Linda and her team moved back inside. Lyle and Amy Clair seated themselves in front of the captain’s wooden desk in an office on the precinct’s always busy floor.
Linda settled at her desk. “As you’re aware, Darlene Jordan has provided some crucial data regarding Mr. William Dawson and the death of his son down at UNL during the Notre Dame football weekend. Dawson is convinced the Reverend Hansen was responsible for his son’s death, making him our first real suspect. What have you uncovered?”
Amy spoke first, pulling a stack of emails from a file on her lap. “Dawson was obsessed with the idea Gregory was responsible. He frequently and graphically threatened the Hansens with bodily harm. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that he killed them all, burying Mrs. Hansen on a different piece of land to throw us off.” She slid the folder to her boss.
Linda pulled her chair closer to the desk, thumbing through the emails. “Unis are picking Dawson up at the construction company he owns. I’ve sent two in case he’s combative. I’ll want you both observing the interview.”