The Wraith of Wendy Wilkerson

by Daniel B. Young

“Wendy Wilkerson has been haunting the police department. We want you to make her go away.”

That statement was the beginning of the strangest investigation that ever came my way and the only case in which I allowed my private and professional lives to intermingle.

Detective Sgt. Russell “Rusty” Potts had come to my office and engaged me in some idle conversation, which was out of character for him. I have been doing this long enough to know when someone is working himself up to say something they don't really want to. Which he finally did.

“Dan, you remember when Detective Wilkerson was killed two months ago?”

“Yes. A drug raid that went south at a warehouse, things got chaotic, the dealers had automatic rifles, hundreds of rounds fired. She was shot in the back by a large bore weapon, died on the spot. A through and through wound, the recovered rounds were mostly damaged beyond use, none could be linked to her wounds specifically so the specific shooter was never identified. The survivors of the drug crew were additionally charged and pled out to second-degree murder because her death occurred during the commission of several felonies. Case closed.”

“Legally, anyway,” Rusty said. “Dan, you're a member of the Lakeside County Paranormal Club, aren't you?”

I didn't bother to ask how he knew.

“Yes, but I don't see..”

He put down a bundle of cash on my desk.

“That's two thousand dollars as a retainer. Everything from this moment on must be treated as absolutely confidential. Do you agree?”

“Who's hiring me, you or the department?”

“For the record, I am. Off the record, you will have the cooperation of everyone in the department because they are under orders.”

“What am I being hired for?”

“I can only tell you after you accept.”

“And if I don't?”

“You'll no longer have any contacts in the department.”

“It seems that I either retire or accept, so I accept. Now what is this about and what does LCPC have to do with it.”

That's when he said it.

* * *

Wendy Wilkerson had been a local girl. The only child of surprised middle-aged parents she had been raised to value rules and self-achievement. A tomboy who had excelled at several sports without detriment to her high academic levels. While away at college her parents were murdered during a home invasion. She came home for the funeral, hounded the investigation until the home invaders where caught, sat through the trial, and cheered the sentencing. When she returned to college she changed her major to Criminology, graduated near the top of her class and joined the force. She wasn't in the forefront of women on the force, but there was enough lingering bias to make it rough going. Eventually she gained the trust and respect of the other officers. The brass liked her too, and her rise to Detective was swift. She was only twenty-nine when she was killed.

Six weeks ago strange things began to occur at the city hall complex that also housed the city court and police station. It was an eighty-five year old building of the type often found in rural, county seat, town squares. It started in the detective division. Things would mysteriously disappear and reappear later. Desktops and furniture would be rearranged in the morning. Late working detectives began to hear phantom footsteps, and then an angry, unintelligible female voice. It progressed to seeing shadows out of the corner of ones eyes and finally her full apparition was seen glaring at the unlucky party. It wasn't limited to the detective vision. The patrol locker room had had its share of sightings. Judge Harrison had adjourned court early one afternoon in the middle of an urgent case. He said later that he had seen her sitting in the last row glaring at him for ten minutes. Finally the Mayor had come to work to find the image of her sitting in his $1,500 chair. She had risen up, hands out imploringly, lips moving with no sound, then faded away. This had prompted a meeting of department heads. It was decided that the morale of the entire complex was being affected and someone knowledgeable in hauntings was needed. Of course it had to be someone that would keep it under wraps, it wouldn't do for the public to know of the problem or the efforts taken to solve it. That eventually led to me.

The Lakeside County Paranormal Club was part of a trend of such organizations that have sprung up all over the country in recent years. Its mandate was to attempt to find [semi] scientific evidence of paranormal activities, namely ghosts. In the scientific tradition every effort was first made to disprove or debunk these activities by finding natural explanations for them. The idea being that what you have left may be evidence of paranormal activities. I had joined two years ago out of curiosity. I felt I could contribute a skeptical attitude and investigative skills. I had seen, heard, and felt some things since then that caused me to believe that the subject was worth exploring.

There was also a social aspect to the club. We would have our meetings then go to dinner before going on a hunt or an investigation. A ghost hunt was informal. We would go to some place usually open to the public or by permission to private property. It was mostly a chance to have fun and develop skills with ghost hunting equipment. All members could attend a hunt together. An investigation was treated formally. A person having unexplained activities occurring in their home or business that were upsetting to them usually requested it. Most people wanted us to explain away these activities or at least experience them also. Then they could allay their fears that there was something wrong with them. Small teams of four to eight would be selected for an investigation.

I had explained to the Mayor and company that I couldn't proceed on my own and that the club had confidentially and no financial charge rules. This didn't satisfy him so I came up with a plan that would benefit everyone. The city attorney now officially rehired me. He would also hire the picked LCPC team as his investigators to work under my direction. In our state an attorney can hire anyone to be an investigator and all the legality of client confidentially applies to whomever he hires. I broached this plan at the clubs next dinner meeting. I explained the haunting situation, without specifics, so we could determine a team. Once chosen the team would meet at my office some other time and get the full story. Everyone approved the case. We aren't a large group, only thirty-five members. Five members, other than myself, were voted in on their experience and skills required for this investigation.

I met privately with the team in my business office, filled them in on the whole situation, and explained how the law, and confidentially, applied to them while they worked as investigators for the city attorney under my direction.

Despite the limitations on sharing any results we might get, this was very exciting for our team. A full visual apparition is the Holy Grail of groups like ours, especially if it could be captured on film or video. Our conference concluded the investigation should take place in two parts. First, an investigation at the warehouse where Wendy was killed and a second one at the courthouse/police station.

Two days later we gathered, courtesy of the mayor's influence, at the warehouse at 1:00 P.M. The shootout had taken place at aprox. 3:00P.M. and we needed time to set up our equipment. There was no way to know if the time of her death was relevant to the haunting or not but, since we had carte blanche with the warehouse, we tried to cover every possibility. We were prepared to make a night, or several nights, of it if necessary.

Hal Trenton and Bill Means were setting up our camera and video equipment. We had night vision, infrared, and heat sensitive cameras available to us. They each also had E.M.F. [Electromagnetic Field] meters. These are used to detect any electromagnetic field variations in the area. Everyone had his or her own digital cameras in addition to this.

Included in our equipment was a digital atmosphere thermometer to register cold spots. Sudden drops in air temperature often accompany paranormal events. This type of thermometer allows us to determine the extent of the cold spot or follow it around if it is moving. Of course, it takes some experience to distinguish a genuine cold spot anomaly from drafts or naturally occurring temperature drops.

Sherry Boot had a digital voice recorder and sought out E.V.P.s. [Electronic Voice Phenomena]. These are voices that are sometimes heard on voice recordings on playback that were not heard while the recording was being made. The investigator attempts to prompt these with questions or expressions of sympathy, whatever seems appropriate at the time.

Jason Dock was our computer expert. He was setting up four different laptops to record and save any evidence as it happened. They would also act as visual monitors for all of the cameras. This way nothing would be lost by accident and any evidence could be examined and analyzed in various ways later.

Angel Darling [I'm not making this up] was our “sensitive”, or medium, or physic, whichever term you prefer.

Myself, I mainly did research on alleged haunted sites, their histories and those of its residents. I was also the resident skeptic and debunker of any evidence we collected or paranormal events that were experienced.

We were ready by 2:30 P.M. We began by testing equipment and familiarizing ourselves with the layout of the warehouse. The power had been cut to the warehouse so we had each brought a lantern. Investigations are often carried out in the dark with only flashlights, lanterns, or headlamps to guide us in our movements. Sherry did some preliminary prompting with the voice recorder with no results. Angel wandered the warehouse without sensing anything.

We then settled in for the hardest part of any investigation, the wait. We would periodically repeat our routines, filling in the time with chat of other investigations we had done or had heard of, or exploring various theories and opinions of the paranormal or supernatural.

By 10:30 P.M. we had all gathered at a folding dining table to eat from our lunch boxes. As Sherry opened hers, Hal noticed it first.

“What have you got in there that smells like that?' Hal said.

Sherry dipped her head toward her lunchbox.

“What? This is good. I made it myself.”

I smelled it then.

“Cordite. The smell of exploded gunpowder,” I said.

Everyone began to smell it then. Smells are often connected with paranormal events. The smell became stronger and stronger until our eyes began to sting. Hal, Bill, and Jason went to the laptops to see if anything was registering there.

Then a chill filled the air.

“Fifteen degree temperature drop,” Bill shouted.

Sherry began walking around prompting with the voice recorder. I saw that Angel was seated with her hands to her forehead and her eyes tightly closed. I went to her.

“You alright.”

Angel looked up at me.

“So many.. confusion.. .fear.. pain.”

“Do you need to leave?”

“No, it's alright.”

Angel stood up and began walking around. Sherry came over and followed us.

“I've never felt anything like this before,” Angel said. “A whole crowd of negative spirits. All angry at their loss but afraid to move on. Wait, there is one separate from them, different.”

Hal yelled out to us. “The E.M.F.'s are going off the scale.”

Sherry had begun quietly asking questions, while following Angel.

“Do you wish to make yourselves known to us?”

Pause.

“Do you have anything to say?”

Pause.

“Do you wish to ask anything?”

Pause.

“Can you tell us your name?”

Pause.

Angel had wandered away from the center of the smell.

“Here is the different one. A woman. Not just angry, raging. Rage at others.. and at herself.”

“Do you wish to cross over? Do you want help? Are you Wendy Wilkerson? Do you know that you were killed?” Sherry said.

Suddenly the smell was gone. Sherry kept asking questions. Angel walked around a little then stopped.

“They're gone. All of them,” Angel said.

We all settled down to eat again. Nothing obvious had shown up on the visual monitors. After our lunch we all took out our journals and made written statements of what we each had experienced before discussing the event. This was done to prevent cross contamination and have permanent, on-the-spot, written records to share and compare with other groups. By then it was after midnight and we all felt drained, especially Angel. Backup disks were made of everything collected that evening including the digital voice recordings. We agreed to meet in two nights and review all the evidence.

* * *

Jason and Sherry came to meeting together in an excited state.

“Well, you two look like you have something to say,” I said.

“I reviewed the visual data and we got squat but wait until you hear,” Jason said.

“Yes, you gotta hear this. It's the first time I've gotten this clear an E.V.P.,” Sherry said.

“I've got all the original recordings, but I made a separate file with just these two responses. Listen to this.”

Jason pressed a key on the laptop, which also showed a visual graph of the sound.

Footsteps could be heard and barely in the background Jason, Hal and Bill talking about the visual monitors. Bill shouting the temperature drop. Hal yelling about the E.M.F's.

Then Sherry's voice.

“Do you wish to make yourselves known to us?”

Then a male voice.

“Go away.”

“Do you have anything to say?”

“Leave us alone.”

EVP's are usually whispery, static-filled, and somewhat drawn out. These were in whispers but otherwise perfectly clear.

“Do you wish to cross over.”

Then a woman's voice.

“No rest.”

“Do you want help?”

“Yes.”

“Are you Wendy Wilkerson?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know you were killed?”

“Not killed. Murdered.”

“That's all,” Jason said.

“That's all? We've never gotten anything like that before. Not with that kind of clarity,” Bill said.

That began a round of self-congratulations and discussion on EVP's we had heard on the Internet and how were we going to be able to use these under our current circumstances.

Their voices faded in my mind. I kept hearing ‘Not killed. Murdered.' I didn't think a cop would consider herself murdered during a shootout with drug dealers. The official term would be ‘killed in the line of duty'. An ugly thought began forming in the back of my mind. It was time for some of my usual kind of investigating.

* * *

Wendy's former partner, Detective 1st James Stills met me at Abby's Café but he wasn't happy about it.

“I've had Internal Affairs off my back for a week, now I gotta go through this for a private prick.”

“That's dick.”

“I said what I meant.”

“Ok, you're entitled to feelings. We're both here because the brass wants it that way so lets just get it over with. First, did you think anything was off about Wendy's death?”

He looked at me for a minute like he was trying to decide something.

“I kept trying to tell I.A. that something was fishy, nobody wanted to hear it. Why would you ask me that?”

“Right now I have some very inadmissible evidence that Wendy may have been shot on purpose.”

“Those bastards were trying were trying to shoot all of us on purpose, but you're not talking about that are you? What do you know?”

“I rather save that for now. Were you and Wendy close as partners?”

“We were together for three years. We were as close as any other partners. And there was nothing funny going on either. She had proven herself as a cop and we were tight like partners get, but I'm married with three kids and I don't fool around.”

“Was anyone overly upset that she got promoted?”

“Look, I went over all this with I.A. You should have read the file on it already.”

“I did”

“Then my answers are still the same. Sure, some guys resented it, made comments about her sleeping her way to her rank. But I'll tell you she earned what she got and nobody was that upset about it. And if she had had anything damaging on another cop or some big shot she would have told me. If it was law enforcement business she would have talked to me and she didn't. As for her personal life, I didn't see that she had much of one. Maybe there could have been some wacko boyfriend I didn't know about, but I can't see anyone following her to a shootout or hanging around once it started. We done?”

“No. If everything is as you say why did you think something was off about it? Why don't you just tell me what happened that day.”

“Okay. One time more. We didn't get together until about 1:00 p.m. We had worked late the night before and wanted to be rested. We had developed the warehouse lead and no one knew about it but the Chief, the task force commander, and us.”

“Who made up the task force?”

“Our department, two other local departments, some county, and some local DEA.”

“Ok. Then what?”

“We went to the warehouse. When we were sure most of the gang was inside we made the call to the Chief. He called the task force commander. The task force was on alert, but the target was kept secret. The commander gathered the task force someplace and led them to the warehouse. No one else knew the target until they got there. That's part of what stinks about it. They were ready for us. We had a no-knock warrant. Just as we hit the doors we started taking fire. Nobody could react that fast. They knew we were coming. We'd been watching that place a couple of weeks. They had no outside cameras and we never spotted a lookout.”

“Let's go back a little. Did anything happen between you making the call and the task force arriving?”

“Well, nothing that has anything to do with this.”

“I know this is grating to you, but I got railroaded into this myself. I know this is personal for you, but I have some distance from this and can look with fresh eyes. So, let me decide what's important.”

“Just between us? I wouldn't want this to get around.”

“No promises, but if I can at all I'll keep it between us.”

“Well, we were parked behind a pile of crates waiting. We saw the task force start to arrive from different directions. Wendy started to look kinda pale and said she had to pee. I said to wait but she ran off behind another pile of crates. I figured it was just a form of the takedown jitters, but it's not something she would have wanted other cops to hear about. Officers from the task force were getting into position. I got the go signal on the radio from the commander just as she came running back. She started to say something, but I just grabbed her along and told her we had the go. We ran to our assigned door.

We could already hear firing from the inside but we just kicked in our door and hit the floor rolling. We were crouched down behind some crates already taking fire. We stood up to return fire. She looked at me and said “Jimmy, I gotta..” just as a volley of fire came our way. We both ducked down. She dropped all the way to the floor. I saw she had a bleeding wound in her back. I turned her over and there was a bigger wound. I tried C.P.R., but she was gone. They tried to tell me the round came from a catwalk above us or behind us. That catwalk was directly over us with a solid floor. There's no way the shot came from there. I looked behind us and the door we came in was still open, but I don't see any hump that might have gotten out stopping in his flight to shoot a cop. Even so, why not shoot me too. It never added up for me. That's all I know. Now, what is it you know?”

“Have you heard the rumors that Wendy has been seen and heard around the station?”

“They're not rumors. I've seen her myself and I don't mind telling you since I'm now in distinguished company there. You can't keep a secret that keeps popping up in front of people. How does that bring you into this.”

I told him everything I knew.

“You actually heard her? I saw her but never heard her.”

“Only on playing back the recording. The theory is that spirits over time learn to control electromagnetic energy. Tell me about your experience.”

“I was probably the first one to see her. It was about a week after she died. I was in the locker room at the station. I was between shifts so I was alone. I came out of the shower and laid my towel down to get dressed. Then I felt a presence and turned my head. She was standing about three feet away. I grabbed my towel, out of reflex, to cover myself. She seemed to laugh. Then tried to tell my something. Her lips were moving but there was no sound. She seemed frustrated. She seemed to be trying to talk louder but still no sound. She kept making a fist and putting it upside her head. She made some motions like ‘get it?' I didn't, then she looked sad and faded away.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“Of course not. They already had me made seeing a shrink; I can imagine what he would have made of that. No, It happened two other times almost exactly the same. Then other people started having strange experiences. We began to talk about it among ourselves. I got excited when I heard they had heard a female voice but no one could ever understand what was being said. Anyway, all this leaves us nowhere. I don't have much hope for you succeeding at what the brass wants. Wendy was like a starving dog with a bone once she got into something. If we can't figure out what she wants, she isn't going anywhere until she gets it.”

“We?”

“Yeah, we. If you think you can keep me out of this now, you're nuts. Besides she came to me first. Together maybe we can get some answers and give Wendy some peace. If someone murdered her, I want them. So what's next?”

I told him.

* * *

The next weekend the team, with the addition of Detective Stills, set up in the courthouse. There had been three more Wendy sightings and several poltergeist-type incidents since our investigation at the warehouse. We were limited to the hours between 7:00 PM and 5:00 am. We had access to the courtrooms, hallways, detective division [detectives were on call for the weekend] and locker rooms [except at the 11:00 p.m. to 12:00 a.m. shift change for uniformed officers].

Hal, Bill, and Jason had set up the equipment we were going to use in the locker rooms and had moved on to the courthouse floor with the rest of the team. Detective Stills and I remained in the locker room. I thought since she had appeared to him there first that we might get a return visit. We both had digital cameras. I had a digital recorder and had shown James how to use an E.M.F. meter. We had dimmed the lights and settled in to wait.

We killed the hours until shift change with war stories and theorizing on the paranormal and it's relation to various religions. We had no event. Just before shift change we turned off the equipment and turned up the lights. By prior agreement we meet the rest of the team at the “Cop Shop” restaurant across the street for a late dinner. The rest of the team had nothing to report either.

At about 3:a.m. James and I were pouring the last of the keg of coffee and fighting drowsiness when the E.M.F. meter began to flash faster and faster.

“Is that something?” James said.

“Yes, it reacted that way at the warehouse. Look around and stay alert.”

That proved unnecessary as a mist floated around a line of lockers, moved toward us and floated stationary in front of us.

“You see that too?”

“Yes, and it's a first for me,” I said.

“This meter stopped working,” James said.

The mist slowly formed into a translucent image of Wendy Wilkerson as all the lights dimmed even more.

I pointed my camera at the image to take a photograph but it was now out of power also.

I picked up the voice recorder. It too was drained.

“What's wrong with this equipment?” James said.

“It's believed that sprits can drain energy from batteries and electrical equipment to manifest themselves.”

“Wendy, just tell us want you need done. I'll do anything, you know that,” James said.

She smiled at him then held out one hand, palm facing out, fingers spread.

“Wait?”

A nod.

She cupped her right hand into a fist and held it up to her head.

“That's what she did the first time I saw her.”

She nodded her head and shook her fist a little with a “get it?' expression on her face.

“A phone! She's talking on the phone,” I said.

“Of course, I should have gotten that the first time.”

She was nodding again. Then she held out her hand in the wait gesture again. She held up one finger and shook her head. Then she held up an additional finger and nodded.

“I don't get it,” I said.

“Wait, she loved to play charades. Let's see ..the first thing is wrong the second thing is right..uh..someone else is talking on the phone!”

Several nods from Wendy.

“Okay,” James said. “Somebody is talking on the phone…before the shootout?”

Nods again. Wendy then held out both hands in the wait gesture, put her hands to her side, and closed her eyes with a look of concentration on her face. All of the lights in the locker room went out. We could see only by the light of our headlamps.

Our cell phones rang then the lights came back on. We looked at each other then looked at Wendy. She had both fists by her head nodding. We answered our phones.

“Hello.”

“Hello. There's no one there,” James said.

“No one on mine either.”

We looked at Wendy. She held up one finger, then two, three, four, five.

“Numbers. What's the number that called you?” I said.

James looked at his cell phone. “313-555-4812.”

“Same as mine. You can't call two phones at the same time.”

“Wendy, somebody called that number before the shootout?” James said.

Head shake.

“Somebody called from that number?”

Vigorous nodding. Then Wendy seemed to sigh, gave us a big smile, then blew a kiss with both hands and faded away.

* * *

A week later I was again waiting for James Stills at Abby's Café. This time he had called me. I was finishing the world's best patty melt and fries as he got there.

“So, how's things?”

“Well the LCPC is happy. The mayor and company allowed us to post the Wendy Wilkerson case on our website, providing we change the names and places to protect the politically timid. I understand you've arrested and are holding a county cop on the QT.”

“You heard about that?”

“You're not the only cop I know.”

“Yeah. Well it won't be secret long. Corporal Richard Hays confessed to everything, once we confronted him with his cell phone records showing he called inside the warehouse just before the raid.”

“Even to murdering Wendy?”

“He thought he was alone when he made the call. He'd been dirty for a couple of years. Wendy was squatting behind a crate and heard him. She must have slipped or something because he heard her make a noise. Then she was up and running back to me, but he saw and followed her. He shot her through the door we had entered, then he bolted back to his assigned position.”

“It was a long and arduous interrogation, I presume?”

“No, once we showed him what we had he just gave it up, didn't even ask for an attorney.”

I gave him a puzzled look. A cop would know how to work the system better than that. At the very least delay as long as he could.

“He's eligible for a murder one death penalty for killing a cop and he just cooperates?”

“He seemed to think that cooperating would help him make a deal on the lesser charges.”

“He was worried about the lesser charges?”

James gave me a big grin. “Well, he didn't think he would be charged with murder because, according to him, Wendy was sitting right there throughout the interrogation.”

Reprinted from the May, 07 issue of "Nefarious: Tales of Mystery"