Dead Point (Maggie Blackthorne Book 1)

by LaVonne Griffin-Valade

  Once inside our office, Brady sat nervously in the single plastic deck chair we’d placed in the all but nonexistent waiting area. He picked vigorously at the lint on his expensive black shirt and then rolled up one sleeve and went after a scab on his elbow with the same vigor. When Asa Larkin arrived, the boy stood and snapped shut the pearl-buttoned cuff of his sleeve in one action.

  His father avoided looking directly at the kid, instead inscrutably casing the interior of our office until arriving at some unknowable conclusion. “Have you arrested my son, Sergeant?”

  “He’s been cited for two separate traffic violations. No arrest, though.”

  Larkin reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded checkbook. “How much are the fines altogether?”

  “Those are paid to the court. You can find the information on his citation.”

  “So we can go?” Larkin asked, returning the checkbook to his pocket.

  “There’s a matter I’d like you to clear up, but I think it would be better if your son waited for you in the car.”

  I handed Larkin the key fob I’d confiscated earlier, and he tossed it to Brady. “I’ll join you shortly. And just so there’s no question, your driving privileges are suspended indefinitely.”

  The boy straightened his shoulders and opened the front door.

  “Brady, don’t forget your coat,” Hollis called after him.

  “Thank you.” Brady collected his charcoal-gray Canada Goose parka and shut the door.

  I invited Larkin to take the seat next to my desk. He did so reluctantly.

  “The ‘matter’ you wanted to ask me about?” he asked impatiently.

  Larkin’s dismissive attitude was getting old, but I decided to forgo any snark. I explained that I’d found a Kel-Tec PF-9 automatic pistol and two magazines of ammunition in the cargo-area storage compartment of his Prius.

  He didn’t miss a beat. “I have a concealed weapons permit.”

  I heard Hollis opening up his computer.

  “But your son doesn’t. In fact, he appeared stunned a weapon was inside the car at all.”

  “I neglected to remove the pistol and ammunition before giving Brady permission to use the car,” Larkin said.

  I patiently waited for the man to say more.

  “I usually keep the gun in my safe at home. Brady doesn’t know I keep a weapon there, nor does he know the combination.”

  “What made you decide to carry the gun in your car?”

  “Three murders a few days apart, for one thing. But as I already explained, I’m not usually in the habit of taking it with me, so I forgot to lock it back in the safe.”

  “Mr. Larkin,” Hollis broke in. “Records show your carry permit was issued in Clackamas County.”

  “What? Does that matter since I’m still an Oregon resident?”

  “In Oregon, permits are issued by each sheriff in the county of their jurisdiction,” I said. “We’ll need to check with the sheriff’s office, see if they have any restrictions on permits issued by another county.”

  I glanced at my watch. A few minutes past five o’clock. “I’m afraid their office is closed now. That means I’m putting a legal hold on your weapon for at least forty-eight hours.”

  That bullshit move nearly elicited a smile from Larkin before he stood and slowly turned.

  “Don’t forget Brady’s phone, Mr. Larkin.”

  He lifted the baggie containing his son’s device from my desk and left our building.

  Hollis stared at me for several seconds, rose and walked to the front window, and watched the silent Prius pull out of our parking lot. “Jesus, Sarge. That was something. You know damned well Sheriff Rhinehart has no conceal carry restrictions. He’d likely designate Larkin as one of his volunteer deputies, too.”

  “You were the one who brought up the conceal carry being issued in another county. That was good timing, by the way.”

  “Larkin’s an attorney, remember?”

  “Well, he’s a shitty one if you ask me. He didn’t even try to call my bluff.”

  “He could be back with an injunction first thing tomorrow morning,” Holly reminded me.

  “There’s got to be some way we can arrange to get forensic ballistics on that gun.”

  I picked up the landline and dialed Bach’s number. When he didn’t answer, I called the State Police lab. Gone for the day.

  I slammed the receiver. “Shit.”

  “When I was with Burns OSP, they used a retired forensics guy a couple of times. Harry Bratton. He’s got a spread near Silvies,” Hollis said.

  “Why am I just now hearing about this?”

  “When have we needed a faster turnaround than we can get from the State lab? Plus I don’t think Harry is equipped for every possible scenario.”

  “Silvies is close,” I said.

  “About halfway between here and Burns.”

  “And in our county, so part of our police district. In case that comes up when I ask Bach for the go-ahead to contact Bratton.”

  I tried Al’s office phone again. When he didn’t answer, I radioed his Interceptor.

  “Evening, Sergeant Blackthorne,” he said, road noise and loud honkytonk in the background. “Let me shut off the music.”

  I waited for Hank Williams’s yodeling to quiet. “We’ve come into temporary possession of a Kel-Tec PF-9 belonging to that rancher you met yesterday.”

  “Temporary possession?”

  “I’m holding it for forty-eight hours on a technicality.”

  “What kind of a technicality?”

  “Asa Larkin’s conceal carry permit is registered in Clackamas County, not here. I told him I needed to confirm that Sheriff Rhinehart’s office is kosher with him holding an out-of-county permit.”

  “Which you and I already know is yes,” Al said.

  “Of course. Hollis even suggested the sheriff would designate Larkin as a special deputy.”

  “That’s mighty witty of Trooper Jones, but I don’t see what that has to do with the forty-eight-hour hold. Which, by the way, conceal carry issue aside, doesn’t strike me as strictly enforceable.”

  “We needed to buy some time. I’d like to run the weapon through a ballistics check. The problem is, by the time we get it to the lab in Bend, or any of the other labs around the state, it’ll take more than forty-eight hours,” I explained.

  “I’m listening,” Bach intoned.

  “Hollis knows about a retired forensics expert who lives nearby. I guess Sergeant Brown in Burns used the guy for ballistic exams in the past.”

  “Harry Bratton?”

  “That’s right. I’d like your okay to call him.”

  “Harry’s one of the best forensic technicians I’ve ever worked with. But I’m not sure you’ve given me a reason to give the go-ahead.”

  “Larkin is a peculiar bird, living in that fortress with armed bodyguards. But the fact that he owns a Kel-Tec 9 is what makes him a person of interest in my book.”

  “All right, Maggie, go ahead and give Harry a call. I’ll get a message to the State lab folks, make sure they provide you remote access to whatever you might need.”

  “Thanks, Al.”

  I clicked off the radio and made the call to Harry Bratton. He just happened to be in John Day visiting relatives and agreed to stop by. I hoped the timing of Bratton’s family get-together signaled our luck was changing, that we might know by tomorrow whether Asa Larkin’s Kel-Tec 9 was the murder weapon or just one of many such guns floating around out there.

  Who was I kidding? Larkin could present us with an injunction canceling the forty-eight-hour hold before we learned shit.

  Waiting for the forensics guy, I paced the office, dusted file cabinets, and mulled over the Asa Larkin conundrum. Any connection to the Nodine twins and old man Trudeau was seemingly random, but there had to be something to it all. Starting with Trudeau’s attempt to sell his sick steers to Larkin, the proximity of Dan and Joseph’s camper to Bear Valley Cattle Company,
and now the Kel-Tec PF-9 automatic handgun found in Larkin’s Prius.

  And there was a new goddamn wrinkle to consider. The twins had obviously tried to make off with a bottle of Duncan’s pinkeye spray because they’d already stolen six steers from Trudeau. But that was five days before they were killed, so where had they pastured the cattle? For sure not in the wigwam burner, despite all the cow pies. Had they managed to sneak them onto a patch of some rancher’s acreage?

  Around five-thirty, Duncan interrupted my ruminations with another text. “Working late. Dinner out @ 8:00 okay? I’ll pick you up”

  His message was calming, temporarily blocking out the barrage of murder-mystery twists invading my headspace and reminding me that Duncan’s sudden appearance in my life was worth taking a momentary breath for, especially since I was sure I would end this long day making love to the man.

  I sent him the thumbs-up emoji and continued my office walkabout, this time sweeping the floor while cogitating over Asa Larkin. What about all the signs pointing to some kind of dealings between the quadriplegic Frank Sylvester and him? And what about Larkin’s cousin/stepsister/whatever being the accountant for Sylvester’s long-haul trucking business? Was she the proxy buyer of the Ram 3500?

  I’d also begun to entertain the possibility that Larkin might be Frank Sylvester’s court-appointed guardian and conservator. Elder law was Larkin’s legal specialty, so he would have considerable cover should anyone come sniffing around. More to the point, Larkin would have control over Mr. Sylvester’s assets.

  “Are you all right, Sarge?” Hollis interrupted. “You seem bewildered by something.”

  “Sarah Wakefield Anderson. Who hired her to do the books for Sylvester’s trucking company?”

  Before Hollis answered, Harry Bratton arrived. He had a thin face, broad forehead, and high cheekbones, all of which magnified his bug-eyed expression. He reminded me of Steve Buscemi, maybe Walton Goggins. Like the characters those actors usually played, Harry was, by virtue of his physical appearance, simultaneously compelling and peculiar. He was also straightforward and personable. I liked him immediately.

  After retirement, he had built a forensics lab on his property near Silvies and put the word out to rural law enforcement agencies throughout the Great Basin. He came to our meeting equipped with the formal paperwork needed to take temporary possession of Larkin’s Kel-Tec 9. He’d also come prepared to upload the ballistics files Hollis had pulled from the State lab’s website.

  He scooped up the business cards Hollis and I had placed on the table with our cell numbers scribbled on the back. “This should be all I need. I might have findings to you tomorrow sometime. Maybe even first thing in the morning, but let’s plan on talking by the end of the day for sure.”

  After Harry left with the weapon and data, I laid out the Asa Larkin quandary Holly had observed me stewing over, all of Larkin’s explicit and fuzzy links to the three murdered men and Frank Sylvester.

  “I’m not sure we’ll ever know where the Nodines pastured the six steers, but I see your point about the other connections. I’m in the office awhile longer. I’ll do some more digging into the trucking company. Sarah Anderson, too. See if I can find out who hired her to be Sylvester’s bookkeeper.”

  “I’m off to chat with Kat McKay again. I want to know why she got herself a Kel-Tec 9.” I slipped on my peacoat and hat. “Will I see you tomorrow, Holly?”

  But he was already swimming in the digital sea.

  One of Kat’s neighbors must have been hosting a Tupperware party, leaving guests to take up every available parking space. I found a spot a couple of streets over near the historic Episcopal church and walked to Kat’s place.

  Instead of conversing in her foyer, this time she invited me to join her in the living room.

  “Your home is lovely,” I said, and I meant it. She had an eye for decorating, finding just the right hues and furnishings.

  “Thanks. I like being surrounded by nice things. So Maggie, Duncan already talked to me about your little run-in with Brady Wakefield. He said you also had a talk with Rain. Is that why you’re here?”

  “Actually, I dropped by to ask about your recent citation. Discharging a weapon in a protected wildlife area.”

  “I paid the fine,” she said meekly.

  “No, that’s not the issue. Rain told me he didn’t understand why you wanted to buy a pistol. Said you weren’t ‘much of a gun person.’” And she’d raised her kid alone without ever owning a gun. Why get one now?

  “Is there some law against me owning one?”

  “You don’t have a criminal past, so no. But I’m curious why you got yourself a semiautomatic weapon rather than a single-action handgun?”

  “Why are you asking all these questions?”

  “Because I just found the Nodine brothers blown to bits. By a Kel-Tec 9, like the one you shot up the wildlife area with.”

  “I borrowed the gun, Maggie.”

  “Borrowed it?”

  “And I took it out for target practice. But that was asinine to go to a wildlife area. Anyway, I gave it back to the owner after your game warden guy wrote me a ticket.”

  It occurred to me Kat and Larkin might’ve been friendly, perhaps more than friendly. I could see why they might strike up a romance. She had aged, but in a way that suited her, made her more attractive. It was possible she’d even become a woman Larkin could consider a tolerable stand-in for all those Pilates-addicted fortyish gals from Lake Oswego. Especially given most of the other options available in my county. If Larkin had shown an interest in her, there would be little wonder why she dumped Dan Nodine.

  I cocked my head slightly to one side, and I hoped imperceptibly. “Let me guess. You borrowed the gun from Asa Larkin.”

  “Who on earth is that?”

  “Brady Wakefield’s father.”

  “I’ve never met the man.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed her, but I had nothing much else to go on. “Okay, Kat. Thanks for your time this evening.”

  “Sure, Maggie. You’re always welcome to drop by.”

  Now that last statement I did not believe.

  Walking the few blocks to my rig, constellations and asterisms shone brightly in a now cloudless sky. I inhaled the cold, sweet air, climbed in my Tahoe, and circled back by Kat’s house. Larkin’s Prius was parked in the driveway behind her Land Rover.

  I straightened the apartment, moved the cat pillow from the end of my bed, replaced the sheets, and waited in the rocking chair for Duncan to arrive. Finally, I took Louie in my lap and picked up Libbey vs. Chase. I’d managed to get beyond page eighty, but barely. I was having a hard time getting into a story with two such despicable main characters.

  Close to eight thirty, I heard McKay’s Feed and Tack delivery truck pull up outside. Still holding Louie, I opened the door and waited on the landing.

  Duncan brought a bag of groceries out of his rig and held it up. “Steak dinner.”

  A man after my own heart.

  He climbed the stairs and took Louie and me in one of his bull-rider arms and hugged us against his broad chest. “Jesus, I thought about you all goddamn day.”

  I’d mostly thought about Asa Larkin all goddamn day, which was, for one thing, not that productive. And for another, not sexy.

  “Louie’s flattered you thought about him all day.”

  Duncan scratched Louie under his chin. “Nice to meet you, old boy.”

  “What kept you so long at the Feed and Tack?”

  “I’m behind on my billing.” He indicated the grocery bag. “Rib eyes, potatoes to bake, salad fixings, and something to drink.”

  “Nice. Might be interesting preparing all that in my dinky, spice-poor kitchen, though.”

  “We’ll make do, I think.” He placed the bag in the refrigerator. “So did I blow it by not reporting the Nodines for stealing the pinkeye spray?”

  “I wouldn’t say you blew it. I’m glad you told us, but it still goes into the hopper wit
h everything else we know. Just could have gone in there sooner.”

  “Would it have made a difference?”

  I gave that question a few seconds of thought. “No. Now let’s dispense with the shop talk and get cooking.”

  “If you say so, Sergeant.”

  I took his hand and led him to my bed. I lit a candle. Slowly we explored each other’s warm body and removed our clothing.

  “I’m afraid I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered in my ear.

  “Don’t be afraid,” I whispered in return, even knowing I was. And also thrilled. With my fingertips I traced his brow, his soft mouth, his strong jaw. “You have nice eyes.”

  He pulled me closer and gently drew my hair from my face. “You’re just damned beautiful.”

  No man had ever called me that or even pretended to find me beautiful. I considered thanking him but kissed him fully on the lips instead.

  “And like I said before, a good kisser,” he said.

  He enfolded me in his muscular arms, and I wrapped mine around his naked waist. Our embrace gave over to a fierce desire.

  Later, bodies still buzzing, Duncan and I made supper in my little kitchenette, broiling the steaks, baking the potatoes in the microwave, and putting together a salad. We carried the little square dining table a few feet, placing it next to the settee, and sat side-by-side eating our dinner on mismatched plates.

  I poured each of us a glass of the fancy beer he’d bought to go with the meal and took a bite of my steak. “Perfect.”

  “Not too rare?”

  “Is there such a thing?”

  He smiled and put his arm around me. “A woman like you. That’s rare.”

  “You’re kind of unusual yourself, Mr. McKay.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s unusual. Watching you question my nephew this afternoon.”

  “That’s the problem with being a cop in a small town. You might have to interrogate your lover’s nephew.”

  Duncan leaned into my shoulder and bumped me lightly. “I’ve been elevated to lover?”

  “Is that okay?”