Where Monsters Hide by M. William Phelps

Author:M. William Phelps
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2019-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

37

NEIGHBORS

WHEN TODD SAYLOR WALKED THROUGH THE DOOR OF HIS GRANDMOTHER’S Lawrence Street house on the night of March 5, 2015, Jason and Kelly were inside, sitting, talking to Todd’s grandmother and nephew, David Saylor. There had been quite the stir in the neighborhood throughout that day and night. The idea of cops trekking in and out of the Cochran house, MSP lab techs and crime scene investigators (CSIs) milling about, tagging brown paper and plastic bags of household items, was alarming for this quiet community.

“Hey,” Todd said. “What’s up?”

Kelly was in the middle of a conversation with David.

“If anything happens, call my mother,” Kelly was saying as Todd sat down. She handed David a phone number.

Todd looked at Jason, who didn’t say much. His face turned rose red as he started to sweat.

Staring at Jason, it was clear to Todd that his neighbor and friend was agitated and nervous and confounded by the day’s events.

“He got really quiet,” Todd later said. “He is a quiet guy, anyway. But he likes to talk. He likes to laugh and stuff like that. But not that night.”

Paranoid was the way to describe how Jason Cochran was feeling.

“They’re coming back,” Jason finally said.

“What? Who?”

“The cops.”

* * *

THE ERRATIC AND ADMITTEDLY alcohol-fueled neighbor from the previous night called Frizzo the next day. He apologized for his behavior. He now wanted to talk about his neighbors, the Cochrans.

“I’m sorry about last night. I’m just frustrated.”

“I understand,” Frizzo responded.

“We’re all tired of the activity around that house,” he explained, mentioning another house in the neighborhood, too. “There’s always people coming and going.”

“Has anyone talked to you about whether or not you’ve seen particular vehicles around the Cochrans’ house back in October, last year?”

“Never been asked about that or anything.”

“Can you tell me anything about the Cochrans?”

“Well, I can say that she injured or broke her arm in early October—I was speaking with another neighbor about it and we just assumed the husband had broken her arm.”

“What makes you say that?”

“This other neighbor, name’s Gary Wernholm, said he also suspected it based on his observations of the relationship.”

“You ever see an SUV-type vehicle over there?”

“Not that I can recall.”

Before they hung up, the man mentioned that the Cochrans had a fire pit in the back of the house. He said something about a “burn barrel,” as he described it.

“A what?”

“Like a fifty-five-gallon drum they burned things in.”

Frizzo said she’d be back in touch.

Hanging up, Frizzo went to her list of items retrieved under the warrant.

No burn barrel.

* * *

RETIRED, GARY WERNHOLM HAD LIVED on Lawrence Street in Caspian for thirty years; his house located across the street from the Cochrans’ home, kitty-cornered. When Frizzo caught up to him that same week, Wernholm explained he had not much associated with the Cochrans, but he did have a conversation with Kelly the previous October. It was an incident he could recall vividly.

It was mid-October, to be exact. A particularly warm fall day in Upper Michigan. Wernholm had opened the windows in his house because it was such a nice day.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.