by Edwin Dasso
With a grim nod, he handed the chief a tablet device. The chief passed it to Lacey.
“Run them.”
Lacey took the tablet and headed to her cubicle, grateful to have something productive to do. Within minutes, she had a match. The suspect’s name was Noah Hall. Lacey ran a search through the LexisNexis database and printed the results. The chief settled a pair of heavy-rimmed reading glasses onto his nose as he took the sheet from her grasp.
“Noah Hall. Twenty-seven years old. Lives in Southeast Portland. Says he works for Blue Line security. No record. No registered weapons. Applied with the Portland Police Bureau earlier this year.”
“A theft ring maybe? Extortion?” Lacey mused out loud, ruminating on the possible reasons why a security guard might take his own life. “Maybe. He stole a car and a few sets of plates. He was transporting a stolen gun. Maybe he’s behind the ring of house thefts in Bellingham.”
Tipping his palms skyward, the chief shrugged his broad shoulders. They were grasping at straws, but what else did they have?
“Drugs maybe? I’ll give Portland a call. They’ll want to check his place and see what they can find. In the meantime, let’s keep working on what we’ve got. The car.”
“I’m on it,” Lacey said.
Quincy, the head of their two-person forensics team, answered her call. He looked like a high school student—rail thin with straight sandy hair and Harry Potter glasses. Everything about Quincy brought out the high school bully in Spencer, but Lacey liked him. He was smart, thorough, with a quirky sense of humor and a love of classic movies.
Foregoing their usual banter, Quincy answered her call. “Lacey, how are you?”
“Hanging in. Find anything?”
“Did I ever mention that my grandpa was the kind of neat freak who kept the plastic covers on his furniture? Well, the guy who owns this car makes him look like Oscar Madison.”
It was so like Quincy to try and lighten the mood, and while she loved him for trying, Lacey wasn’t following the reference.
“Who?”
“Girl, seriously.” She could almost hear the oh-my-god-three-sixty-eye-roll over the phone. “The Odd Couple. Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau. One guy’s a neat freak and the other’s a slob.”
“Jesus, Quincy. Was Oscar the slob or the neat freak?”
Quincy heaved a weary sigh. “The slob. Never mind.”
“So, you didn’t find anything?”
“I didn’t say that. A receipt had fallen beneath the driver’s seat. I’ll text you a photo while we keep looking.”
“Great. Call me if you find anything else.”
“Absolutely. And Lacey?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry about Spencer.”
Lacey paused. Cleared her throat. “Thanks.”
A half second later, her cell phone chimed. She clicked on the text and examined the photo. She knew the place. Trammel’s Jewelry was a small family-owned business located off the Santiam Highway, less than twenty minutes out of Sweet Home. It was where Caleb had bought her engagement ring. The date and time stamp on the receipt showed the purchase had taken place several weeks ago.
Reaching the threshold of the chief’s office, Lacey paused and knocked softly on the doorframe. The chief was on the phone. Looking up, he motioned for Lacey to enter. She did and waited for him to hang up.
“That was Portland. They’re issuing a search warrant for Hall’s apartment.”
Lacey nodded. “Quincy found a receipt in the car. The shop’s not too far. I thought I could take a drive there. See if we can track down a credit card number.”
“Later. OSP will be here in five.”
“Copy that.”
23
After spending an hour going over everything again with the State cops, it was a relief to get out of the station. Doc Pascal was preparing to haul the bodies out of the interrogation room to the morgue. Lacey wanted to be miles away when that happened. She’d seen enough blood for one day.
The chief had told her she could leave early, but Lacey wanted to help. With the State cops presiding over the crime scene and coordinating with Portland on searching the suspect’s home, following up on the receipt was something she could do.
School was out, and by now, her kiddos would be at her cousin’s house, where they would stay until she was officially off shift. Her cousin, Amber, lived a couple of blocks from the school. She ran a home daycare, and not for the first time, Lacey thought about how grateful she was to have family close by. Especially with Caleb away. She worked long hours, and Amber was like a second mom to her kids. They would stay for dinner and already be in their pajamas when it was time to be picked up.
Lacey’s phone chimed with a message. She picked it up. As if this day couldn’t get worse, it was a welcome message from the Tolovana Inn at Cannon Beach notifying her that it was time to check in. Lacey swiped her thumb across the screen and dismissed the reminder. Her heart felt leaden in her chest. She’d booked the trip months ago, hoping that this anniversary would mark a turning point for her marriage. A fresh start.
She felt foolish now. Naively, she’d imagined them walking along the beach hand-in-hand. No kids. No work. Just the two of them. The way it had been all those years ago when they’d first married. She’d imagined that after their stroll along the beach, they’d head over to the Pelican Brewery for a couple of pints and dinner. And they’d talk. Really talk about the things that mattered. About their future. Whether they had a future together anymore.
God, she missed the way she and Caleb used to be. Today of all days when her world had been shaken to its core, she longed to feel Caleb’s arms around her. She had always felt so safe when she was with him. But Caleb was thousands of miles away on a base in Texas, angling for a job that would keep him there, instead of returning to his family. Fort Hood might as well have been on the moon. And she was so tired of waiting.
The miles of road separating Sweet Home and Lebanon disappeared in a blur of farmer’s fields. The east side of town was filled with retail—Walmart, strip malls, auto shops, and fast-food joints.
Two traffic lights beyond the town limits, she reached downtown. Spotting the jewelry store, she pulled around the corner, and parked the cruiser outside a small bakery. The scent of freshly baked bread and sugar cookies carried on the breeze reminding Lacey that she hadn’t eaten all day. As tempting as the smell of the bakery was, with the images of the killings so fresh in her mind, she probably wouldn’t be able to keep anything down.
Lacey exited the car and walked along the dusty sidewalk toward the store. She nodded to an elderly couple ambling down the street. They eyed her uniform with a curious look, as they strode by.
Trammel’s had a beige store front with a large display window. Lacey opened the door and a bell chimed overhead. Glass cases filled the showroom, sparkling with their wares. The older man behind the cash register folded a newspaper and looked up to greet her. Removing his reading glasses, he took in her uniform with surprise.
“Not often we get a visit from Sweet Home’s finest. What can I do for you, Officer?”
“I was wondering if you could help me.”
He gave a shrug. “If I can.”
“I have a receipt from your store.”
Lacey sketched in the scenario, skipping over some of the details, and showed him the photograph of the receipt.
“Let me see what I can find.”
Phone in hand, he withdrew through a door at the back of the shop leaving Lacey on her own. She wandered through the aisles, examining cases of engagement rings. For her, the new rings symbolized hope, a beginning, while the used sets epitomized sad stories of failed dreams.
Lacey stared down at all the pretty things. Anniversary bands. Family rings. Gifts that symbolized a life together. She sighed with longing. It was their tenth anniversary. A milestone. But it would never occur to Caleb to waste good money on a sentimental gift like jewelry. Last year he’d gotten her a c
rock pot, as if with the hours she worked, she magically had time to cook. With her luck, this year he’d probably buy her a RoboVac. Lacey turned away from the jewelry case.
A beep sounded as the salesman returned to the showroom. He gave his head a regretful shake.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t able to track down the credit card information for this transaction.” He handed the phone back to Lacey. She struggled to hide her disappointment. “But I did find something.”
A spark of hope lit in Lacey’s chest as he motioned for her to follow. He led her back to the office, which housed a surprisingly modern-looking computer system.
“My son does some damned thing with computers in Portland. He installed a security system, afraid I suppose of us being robbed at gun point. Imagine. Anyway, I looked at the footage and here’s what I saw.”
The monitor showed a time stamp that matched the date and time on the receipt. He pushed play. There was no sound, but the video clearly showed a white-haired man approach the cash register. The two men conversed as the transaction took place. This clearly wasn’t her suspect, but without a name on the credit card, how would she begin to track this man down?
“His name’s Bill Roberts. He used to be a teacher at the high school. Retired some years back. He’s got a place near Green Peter Lake.”
“You know him?”
“A longtime customer. He was in a few months back buying his wife an anniversary gift. They’ve been married over forty years. He bought her engagement ring from my father in this very store.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know how I could get in touch with Mr. Roberts, do you?”
“I don’t have his phone number, but I’ve been to his place before.”
Lacey took notes as the salesman recited directions. “Thank you. That’s very helpful.”
“Can I ask what this is about?”
It was the first question he’d asked, and given how forthcoming he’d been, Lacey was tempted to answer, but she didn’t want to worry him. There could be a good reason why Bill Roberts hadn’t reported his stolen car. Maybe he had lent it to a relative, or maybe he had sold it, and the paperwork hadn’t made it to the DMV yet, but the scene back at the station hadn’t left her feeling optimistic.
“Nothing to worry about. It’s just routine.”
24
Lacey climbed into her cruiser and typed Bill Roberts’s information into the laptop. Roberts was indeed the owner of a green Subaru Outback. He and his wife, Peggy, had lived in the same home for the past twenty-five years. There were no outstanding warrants, no registered firearms, not even so much as a speeding ticket. Roberts’ record was, what her grandpa would have called, squeaky clean.
Programming the address into her GPS, she pulled out of the parking spot. Circling back toward the highway, she called the chief to fill him in.
“Portland’s searching Hall’s apartment. I should hear back within the hour,” he said.
“I’m going to stop by the Roberts’ place to see what I can find out.”
She expected a quick acknowledgement, but the chief didn’t respond.
After a brief hesitation, he said, “I’m not comfortable with you going in alone. I know the Sheriff. I’ll give him a call.”
“Chief, Bill Roberts is a 72-year-old retired school teacher. I’m pretty sure I can handle him.”
“After everything that’s happened today, I’m not willing to take any unnecessary risks. You can drive out there, Lacey, but you will wait until backup arrives before you approach.”
Lacey’s jaw clenched as she calculated how much time she would waste waiting for the Sherriff’s office to dispatch a deputy. She’d taken down Noah Hall all by herself and managed to transport him to the station without incident. She was fully capable of handling herself.
“That’s an order Officer James.”
“Copy that, Chief.”
Lacey had a choice to make. Either she could defy a direct order or drive out there alone and risk the chief’s ire. She liked her job too much to jeopardize it because of pride. Following the directions on her GPS, she skirted along the river’s edge up a rugged hillside until she reached what looked to be a gravel logging road, a few miles away from the Roberts’ residence.
Thick stands of evergreens lined the narrow road, standing as tall and straight as sentries. Inky green branches scratched the fading sky as Lacey parked at the base of the driveway. From here, she could see the house—a small green bungalow in the midst of a clearing. Small flower beds filled with brightly colored impatiens were pressed up against the foundation and fanned out around a flagstone path.
A shaft of golden sunlight cut through the trees, illuminating the bay window of the house. Lacey rolled down the window. In the distance, she could hear a dog barking. She half hoped that the sight of her cruiser coming up the drive, along with the barking of the dog, might cause the residents of the house to emerge. The chief couldn’t very well fault her for greeting the couple, should they spot her first. Despite the noise, no one emerged.
The wasted minutes crawled passed. The sun shifted on the horizon, lengthening the shadows and plunging the house into twilight. Finally, Lacey heard the far-off sound of a car approaching. A short time later, an SUV appeared. Lacey emerged from the car and strode back to greet the deputy.
The two shook hands.
“Thanks for meeting me here.”
“Always glad to lend a little lady like you a hand.”
Who did this guy think he was? John Wayne? Like him, she had gone through the police academy. Like him, she’d completed all of her training, without the help of a man. She was every bit as capable of performing her duties and yet he was treating her as if she was a girl scout, as if she wasn’t carrying a Glock.
Whatever.
Lacey brushed aside her irritation and tersely explained the situation to deputy what’s-his-name. Together, they advanced toward the door. With each step, the dog’s barks grew more frantic. She heard his nails scratch at the door. Lacey banged her fist against it and waited.
Seconds crawled by. No one came.
“They’re not home,” the deputy said.
No shit, Sherlock.
Ignoring him, she descended the short flight of concrete stairs and strode along the front of the house. Careful not to trample the flowers, she removed a flashlight from her duty belt and shone it through the bay window. At five-feet-six inches tall, Lacey wasn’t exactly short, but she did have to stand on her toes to catch a glimpse inside the living room.
A golden retriever lunged at the window. His barking reached a desperate pitch. Muddy pawprints smeared across the glass.
“He sounds hoarse,” Lacey said.
“Probably doesn’t get many visitors out here,” the deputy reasoned. “Not used to strangers.”
“He must have been barking a long time to sound like that.”
The deputy didn’t respond. Aside from the dog, nothing she could see in the living room looked disturbed. From this vantage point, she caught a peekaboo glimpse of the small dining room. There were dirty dishes on the table, as if they had just finished a meal. A few dishes had been knocked to the floor.
“By the dog?” Lacey mumbled to herself.
Based on the well-maintained look of the place, the Roberts’ didn’t seem like the kind of people who didn’t clear the table after a meal. And yet, they weren’t home. They weren’t answering the door. They couldn’t have been gone that long because the dog’s paws were muddy, unless…
Unless the reddish-brown marks smeared across the glass weren’t mud at all.
A chill swept through Lacey. She reached for her gun.
“We need to go in.”
25
“We should wait,” the deputy said, reaching for his radio.
“Exigent circumstances,” Lacey said.
“What?”
“We don’t wait. We go in now. Someone may need help.”
The deputy blew out a breath, as if str
uggling through an internal war between duty and fear, as Lacey slid the Glock from her holster. Squaring his shoulders, the deputy raised a foot, aiming his boot toward the door. Lacey held up a finger and he stopped. She reached out to try the knob. It twisted and the door opened.
The dog shot past them and sprinted toward the woods.
With a sheepish look, the deputy called, “Police.”
Lacey stepped inside. The stench of rotting death filled the house and Lacey’s stomach heaved.
“Dear god,” the deputy muttered.
Lacey swallowed hard and edged her way inside the house. Aside from the muffled sound of their footsteps, the house was silent. An empty soup bowl lay upended, its leftover contents leaked out across the floor. Dog urine and feces stained the carpet, another sign that the dog had been trapped inside for too long. Dark smears that looked like bloody pawprints led down the hall.
Lacey followed them from the dining room into the kitchen. She stopped cold. An older woman, Peggy Roberts she assumed, lay face down on the floor. Her face was discolored. Bloated. Her head was twisted at a grotesque angle that left no doubt in Lacey’s mind that her neck had been broken. Not six feet away, her husband was sprawled on his back. Congealed blood from a gunshot wound covered his chest. Based on the condition of the bodies, Lacey surmised they had both been dead for at least a day. Maybe more.
The deputy stepped out of the room. His voice shook as he called in the double homicide.
“I’ll check the other rooms,” Lacey said.
“Copy that.”
She eased down the hall, gun extended in front of her body, listening intently for any sound. Bathroom. Guest room. Master. Empty.
“Clear.”
Lacey holstered her gun. Donning a pair of Latex gloves, she started examining the scene, looking for wallets, or some form of identification that confirmed what she already knew. The bodies in the kitchen were Bill and Peggy Roberts.
“We should wait for forensics.”
He was right, she knew. They shouldn’t do anything to disturb the scene, but it was hard to step away.
