“Can I help you?”
There was more throat clearing. “Actually, I need you to come to town with me.”
Nate stilled. There was something in the younger man’s voice that warned this wasn’t just a casual request.
“Why?”
“There’s been some trouble at your building.”
His mind leapt to the most obvious conclusion. Especially after what had happened to Ellie’s house.
“A fire?”
The deputy shook his head. “No.”
“Then what?”
Clay shuffled his feet, his discomfort etched on his face. “The sheriff just sent me to fetch you.”
A deepening sense of unease spread through Nate. Why was the deputy being so cagey? Surely if it was a simple case of vandalism the younger man would simply tell him what had happened.
“Fine.” Nate squashed his flare of annoyance. He could get back to his investigation of Hopewell Clinic as soon as he was done dealing with whatever had happened to his building. “I’ll meet you there.”
“I . . .” Clay coughed and flushed. “Okay. I’ll follow you,” he conceded.
Nate grabbed his keys and headed for his truck. It was obvious that Clay had been ordered to get him into town. It was equally obvious that he wasn’t going to tell Nate why. There was no point in delaying the inevitable.
Ignoring the fact that he had an officer of the law on his tail, Nate drove at a speed that made his dashboard rattle and sent a plume of dust spewing behind him. He didn’t like the knowledge that the sheriff had managed to manipulate him by using his hapless deputy. If the man had any spine, he would have come out and faced Nate in person.
His annoyance had reached a boiling point by the time he reached the town square, only to fizzle and die as he turned the corner. His eyes widened and his heart skidded to a halt.
There were enough flashing lights to make a Fourth of July parade proud. The sheriff’s truck was parked front and center, an ambulance parked next to him, along with the fire truck and the coroner’s vehicle. There were also two other deputies there, with their trucks turned to form a barrier to keep back the growing crowd of gawkers.
Nate swung his truck into the nearest parking spot. Switching off the engine, he jumped out of the truck and glanced toward Ellie’s office on the east side of the square. He could see the outline of Doris at her desk through the large window and the ball of dread in his stomach eased. Good. The older woman wouldn’t be sitting there so calmly if her boss was missing, would she?
Assured this had nothing to do with Ellie, he pivoted and sprinted to the front door of his building. The heels of his boots clicked loudly against the cement sidewalk, his adrenaline running high.
He might be relieved that Ellie was safe, but that didn’t change his fear that something bad had happened.
Entering through the open door, Nate discovered the front store area was empty. He paused, momentarily confused. Then he heard the low murmur of voices coming from the back and he headed across the wooden floor to an empty storage room. Or at least it had been empty the last time he’d seen it.
Now it was filled with cops, EMTs and the coroner. It made the small space positively cramped as Nate squeezed in.
“What’s going on here?” he demanded.
The men turned to regard him with varying degrees of suspicion.
“A question I was about to ask you, Marcel,” the sheriff said, pushing his way to the front of the crowd.
Nate clenched his hands, glaring down at the man who barely came to his chin.
“I’m not in the mood,” he growled. Then one of the men shifted to the side and Nate realized there was someone lying face-first on the ground. “Shit. What happened?”
The sheriff hitched up his pants, a hint of aggression in his jerky movement.
“What happened is that someone shot this man in the head.”
Shot in the head? Nate stepped around the sheriff, crazily wondering if this was some god-awful joke. Nope. One glance was enough to assure him that this was no joke.
Careful not to disturb the body, he studied the small hole visible through the blood-matted hair. He would guess a small-caliber gun shot at close range. His gaze moved down the skinny body that didn’t show any other obvious wounds, before returning to the head, where he could make out the man’s profile.
Sharp features. A prominent nose and weak chin.
“That’s Larry Harper,” he breathed in surprise.
The sheriff moved until he was standing next to Nate, his eyes narrowed.
“He’s a friend of yours?”
“No.”
“But you recognize him.”
It was an accusation, not a question. “Yes.”
“How?”
Nate took two steps to the side, shutting out the low buzz of voices as he concentrated on the crime scene. He wasn’t a medical examiner, but he’d been trained to notice important details.
Now he concentrated on the lividity of the body, as well as the pool of blood that was soaking into the wooden planks of the floor. He’d guess the man had been dead a couple of hours. No more. Maybe a little less. Next his gaze took in the flannel shirt and jeans that Larry was wearing. They were wrinkled, as if he’d slept in them, but they weren’t bunched or rolled; that would have indicated that he’d been moved after death.
Last, he took an inventory of what was there. And more importantly, what wasn’t there.
He could see the outline of a wallet in the back pocket of Larry’s jeans, and a ring on his pinkie finger with a gaudy gold nugget. Which meant that he wasn’t robbed. Unless whoever had been there had only been interested in drugs.
He turned his attention to what wasn’t there.
A gun.
Which meant the killer had taken Larry’s gun. Or that he’d been shot in cold blood.
Nate was betting on the cold-blood theory.
Busy sorting through the various possibilities of what had happened—including a drug deal gone wrong—Nate’s thoughts were interrupted by the sheriff’s sharp voice.
“I asked you a question.”
He turned to impatiently meet the lawman’s glare. “What?”
“How did you know Larry Harper?”
He resisted the urge to tell the man to shut up and let him concentrate. For once, Gary Clark was doing his job. Even if it meant he was being a pain in Nate’s ass.
“I went to Tulsa to speak with him and his brother,” he said.
Gary pulled a small notebook from his shirt pocket along with a pencil.
“When did this meeting happen?”
“Yesterday morning.” The sheriff scribbled in his notebook. Was he trying to look official? Nate rolled his eyes. “Do you know how he got into my building?” he demanded. He hadn’t noticed any broken windows.
Gary paused, as if debating whether he wanted to answer the question.
“There’s a key in his front pocket. It fits the back door,” he at last revealed.
Nate released a grunt of surprise. A key? That was the last thing he’d expected.
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
Nate’s brow furrowed as he tried to imagine how the hell Larry had found a key.
“Did you give him the key during your meeting?” Gary asked.
“No, because I never had one to give him, or anyone else.”
The sheriff looked skeptical. “You don’t have a key to your own building?”
Nate shrugged. “Not one that opened the back door. I wasn’t worried about it since I’m going to have the locks replaced.”
More scribbling in the notebook, along with a glance filled with blatant disbelief. Gary Clark wasn’t making any effort to hide his suspicion that Nate was lying.
“Why did you go see the Harpers?”
“I had a few questions.”
“Questions about what?”
Nate made a sound of impatience. “Shouldn’t you be concentratin
g on why he was here and who shot him?”
Gary puffed out his chest, looking like a chicken with his feathers ruffled.
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
Nate glanced toward the men who were watching the exchange in uncomfortable silence. Realizing that none of them were going to protest the ridiculous implication that Nate was involved, he returned his gaze to the sheriff.
“You can’t think that I had anything to do with this?” he bluntly asked.
“I can think a lot of things,” Gary said, his eyes narrowing as Nate snorted. “Do you think that your FBI badge protects you from the law?”
“I think my innocence protects me from the law,” Nate growled.
“We’ll see,” Gary said.
A female voice sliced through the air with unmistakable authority. “Not without his lawyer present, you won’t.”
In one motion the group of men all turned to watch Ellie Guthrie, who halted at the entrance to the storage room. She was barely over five-foot-four inches, and with her hair pulled into a ponytail that made her look about ten years old, but there was an air of command about her that made all of them stand a bit straighter.
This was a woman on a mission.
And she’d knock down anyone standing in her way.
Nate felt a sizzle of heat race through him, even as he muttered an annoyed curse that she’d failed to keep her promise to him. So much for staying in her office until he returned.
Perhaps sensing he was about to lose control of the situation, Gary Clark pocketed his notebook and pencil before he stepped forward.
“This is a crime scene,” he snapped.
Ellie flicked a glance over the sheriff. It had the perfect amount of disdain.
“And you’re questioning my client without allowing him proper representation,” she warned in icy tones.
Gary’s square face flushed. “He isn’t under arrest.”
She smiled. Or at least her lips curled. Nate shivered. He had a sudden image of a shark about to devour a hapless guppy.
“Then we can leave?”
Gary cleared his throat. He was smart enough to know he was out of his league.
“Let’s take this to my office.” He held up a hand as Ellie’s lips parted to voice her protest. “Nothing official. Just a friendly chat.”
Her gaze flicked toward him. “Nate?”
Nate paused. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck in a stuffy office while Gary played at being sheriff. Especially when Nate could be out investigating the murder with far more skill than the local cops. But without his usual contacts, the first thing he needed was information.
And right now, Gary Clark was the only person who could give him that.
“I want to know what happened here,” he reluctantly conceded.
Ellie flattened her lips. He could almost see her debating the wisdom of cooperating with the authorities, against the fear he might say something incriminating. Then, as if sensing he was determined to get his questions answered, she gave an impatient wave of her hand.
In silence, the three of them left the building through the front door and crossed the street to the courthouse. Once inside, they headed down the hallway and through an open doorway.
Escorting them past the reception area, Gary sent his secretary a stern glance.
“I don’t want to be interrupted,” he warned.
The secretary nodded, futilely trying to disguise her excitement. Nothing ever happened in Curry. Now every day had a new death or disaster. The secretary was clearly savoring the rare hubbub.
They entered the sheriff’s dark, cavernous office and Gary crossed to sit behind his desk. A power move? Nate gave a mental shrug. It was doubtful the man had even a small portion of Nate’s own training in interrogation. Either being the interrogator or the one being interrogated.
He wasn’t worried about being lured into saying something he might later regret. He might no longer be an FBI agent, but he had the sort of friends who wouldn’t be happy if some local yokel tried to railroad him into jail.
“Have a seat,” the sheriff commanded.
Nate waited for Ellie to choose a wooden chair across from the desk before taking the one next to her.
“Who found the body?” he demanded, deliberately undermining Gary’s attempt to establish his authority.
“I’m the one asking the questions,” Gary bit out.
Nate settled in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “This is a two-way conversation or I walk.”
Gary’s lips tightened. No doubt he wanted to say no, but he wasn’t entirely stupid. He was way out of his depth and he needed Nate’s help.
“I got a call an hour ago that someone heard gunshots in your building,” he said.
“A call from who?”
“They didn’t say.”
“Did you trace the number?”
The sheriff’s jaw clenched. Nate suspected the lawman hadn’t even considered the idea of tracing the phone.
“Not yet,” Gary muttered.
Nate felt a stab of irritation. When someone reported a dead body, it was surely common sense to try and find out who called. They were quite often involved in the murder.
Then he gave a shrug. Anyone who watched TV would know that a phone could be traced.
“I’ll bet good money that it was a burner,” he said, speaking more to himself than the sheriff.
Ellie leaned forward. “Why didn’t you contact my client as soon as you received the call?”
Gary appeared confused by the question. “I was busy dealing with the dead body.”
“A body that you found in a building you had no right to enter.”
Gary’s chair squeaked as he shifted uneasily. He’d never had to deal with murder before the past few days. He probably didn’t have a clue if he could or couldn’t enter the building.
Then, perhaps sensing that he was displaying his complete incompetence, he jutted his chin to a stubborn angle.
“Probable cause,” he claimed.
“Doubtful a judge would agree. Which means your entire case will be tossed,” Ellie drawled.
The sheriff hunched his shoulders. “I was told there was gunfire so I went in and found the Harper boy with a bullet in his head.”
Nate hid a smile. As much fun as he was having watching Ellie demolish any case the sheriff might be trying to build against him, he had his own questions he wanted answered.
“Do you know the caliber of the gun?”
The sheriff jerked his head back toward Nate. “Why did you go to see the Harpers?” he demanded.
Nate swallowed a sigh as Ellie sent him the same annoyed glance the sheriff was using. Clearly, she wasn’t happy that he’d already confessed he’d been to Tulsa to visit the brothers.
“After Daniel was found in the field, Walter asked me to look into his death,” he said.
“Why?”
Nate gave a lift of one shoulder. “He wasn’t satisfied with the suggestion his son died of an overdose.”
An ugly expression crawled over the sheriff’s beefy face before he was regaining command of his temper.
“And he asked you to interfere in my investigation?”
Nate held the man’s gaze. “He was under the assumption that there wasn’t going to be any investigation.”
Gary clenched his hands on top of the desk, but he didn’t try to deny Nate’s accusation. They all knew that he’d dismissed Daniel’s death as an accident. Along with the deaths of Mandy and Barb.
“What led you to the Harpers?” he instead asked.
Nate debated. He didn’t make a habit of sharing the names of his informants, even if they hadn’t asked for his confidentiality. But then again, he needed the sheriff to feel as if he was in control.
Otherwise he’d shut down the interview.
“The bartender at the Lodge let me look at the security tapes from the night that Daniel died. The Harpers were there with Daniel. I wanted to know why
.”
Gary suddenly leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.
“A convenient explanation.”
Nate studied the man’s suspicious expression. “Convenient? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“There hasn’t been a murder in Curry in a decade. Now suddenly people are dropping like flies.”
“And?” Nate asked.
“And you seem to be personally involved in each death,” Gary pointed out. “You’re like some sort of black curse.”
Nate felt a burst of anger. Not about the black curse thing. That was mild compared to what his brothers had called him.
But he’d be damned if the bumbling fool tried to pin the spate of killings on him.
“Me? Are you out of your fu—”
“Nate,” Ellie interrupted, reaching out to touch his arm.
Gary pointed a thick finger in Nate’s direction. “I know you think I’m a lazy yokel who can’t do my job, but I’m not stupid,” he said, almost as if he could read Nate’s dark thoughts.
“Really?” Nate mocked.
Ellie dug her fingernails into his arm. “Nate.” Her reprimand was more forceful this time.
Both men ignored her.
The sheriff lowered his hand, but his expression was accusing.
“You were seen talking to my deputy at the field where we found Daniel’s body.”
“We followed the ambulance,” Nate retorted.
“Then you just admitted that you went to the Lodge and demanded to see the security tape.”
“So? I told you, Walter asked for my help.”
“Or maybe you wanted to make sure that you weren’t caught on the video,” Gary countered.
“I wasn’t at the Lodge that night,” Nate snapped.
Gary ignored his protest, clearly on a roll as he revealed his crazy theory.
“You might have been waiting outside. It would make sense that you’d want to check and see if the Lodge had any cameras that could reveal your presence.”
Nate shook his head. Was the man serious?
“If I wanted to discover any outside cameras I wouldn’t need to ask to see the footage,” he drawled. “I could find them myself.”
Once again, the sheriff ignored him. Why bother with logic when he could toss around hypothetical allegations that didn’t have to be based in reality?
You Will Suffer Page 17
