Page 53 of The Girl from Devil's Lake
“Both,” Anna Rae replied. “If our killer doesn’t discriminate as far as his victims are concerned, neither should we.”
Chapter 28
Phoenix, Arizona
2022
Being referred to Dr. Fillmore at the Mayo Clinicwas one thing. Getting in to see him was quite another. Stephen had to take a number and get in line. His first actual doctor’s visit didn’t happen until late spring of 2022. First he underwent a whole series of scans—chest x-rays, CT scans, PET scans, and bone scans. A biopsy determined that his cancer had spread to some lymph nodes but had not yet metastasized to other parts of his body.
At first he drove back and forth from Bisbee to Phoenix for the tests—four hours each way. When Stephen’s lumpectomy was finally scheduled, and knowing he’d be doing both chemo and radiation therapy after the surgery, he broke down and booked a room at the nearest Residence Inn, which offered an in-house restaurant as well as shuttle service back and forth to the hospital campus.
That was the beginning of what Stephen Roper regarded as his six-month stay in hell—aka Phoenix. From April through September it was ungodly hot. The chemo made him sick as a dog. The food in the restaurant was probably fine, but it mostly didn’t stay down. He lost thirty pounds in the blink of an eye. The postsurgery physical therapy sessions to improve movement of his shoulder and upper arm were painful, and the radiation treatments weren’t exactly fun, either.
Naturally he lost all his hair. The only consolation concerning that was due to the fact that many of the hotel’s other guests were in the same boat, but some were in even worse shape and stuck in wheelchairs. At least Stephen could walk on his own.
The voices had remained blessedly quiet for years, but they started tuning up again during his stay in Phoenix. By the time his chemo treatments ended, they were going full force, even though he kept telling them to shut the hell up. What made them think he could go hunting when he couldn’t even drive? As for having the strength to strangle someone with his bare hands when he was weak as a kitten? No way in hell was that going to happen!
By the beginning of October 2022, he was finally well enough to drive himself back to Bisbee. When he got there, the long drive had worn him out. He didn’t bother driving into the garage. Instead, he parked in front of the house and left his luggage in the car, but oh, did Bisbee’s cool mountain air feel good on his skin!
Stephen had expected the house to be a stuffy mess, but it wasn’t. One of the ladies from church who had checked on him regularly had learned that he was about to be released. She had gone to his house, located his spare key under a flowerpot in the front yard, and had then organized a cleanup crew. They had come through like a whirlwind, mopping and dusting. They had also left the fridge stocked with a supply of milk, butter, fruits and vegetables, while the freezer had dozens of premade, heat-and-serve meals for one. The night of his homecoming, however, he was too tired to eat. Even though it was only five o’clock in the afternoon, he went into the bedroom, fell across the bed fully clothed, and slept until morning.
Stephen forced himself to unload the car the next day because he needed to access the meds he’d left in his luggage locked in the trunk of his five-year-old Mercedes S550. Then slowly, one tiny step at a time, he began rebuilding his life. He found a local physical therapist who picked up where the ones from the Mayo Clinic had left off. Gradually, he regained both strength and movement in his right arm and shoulder.
On Christmas Eve 2022, when the rest of the world was focused on peace on earth and goodwill to men, Stephen finally had enough strength to open the trapdoor in his bathroom that allowed him to go down into the crawl space and access the safe he’d had installed there.
While other people were busy wrapping gifts or hanging stockings, Stephen Roper sat alone in his living room, savoring the gift he was giving himself—revisiting the contents of his cigar box, one precious memento at a time.
After all, if this was a night when people were supposed to count their blessings, why shouldn’t he?
Chapter 29
Sierra Vista, Arizona
Wednesday, December 6, 2023
By noon, a still weary Detective Garth Raymondshowed up at the Justice Center. He hadn’t been able to fall asleep at home and decided he might as well come to work. Consequently, when Detective Howell set off for Sierra Vista that afternoon, Garth was riding shotgun. On the way Deb brought him up to date with everything that had come to light that morning.
“Wow,” he said when she finished. “Sounds like my garbage raid really paid off!”
“It sure as hell did,” Deb agreed.
Once in Target, they located the manager, one Mr. Hobart, introduced themselves, and then told him what they needed. They had come armed with a copy of the information on the tag in the duffel bag that had been hauled out of the San Pedro.
After some dinking around on his computer, Mr. Hobart said, “Oh, yes, that’s our five-star duffel—a very popular item. According to this, we started out with five bags in this dye lot. We still have some in other colors, but the blue ones are completely sold out.”
“Can you tell when they were sold?”
“Unfortunately I can’t. For that I’d need to see actual receipts.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hobart,” Deb told him. “You’ve been very helpful.”
He beamed at her. “You’re quite welcome,” he said.
“But he wasn’t helpful,” Garth objected once they left the store.
“I think he was,” Deb returned. “The fact that all the blue ones are gone suggests to me that one person may have scored the whole batch.”
“If we could subpoena Roper’s bank records, we could find out if it was him,” Garth muttered, “but without that, we’re stuck.”
