He’d spent hours that day checking out both crime scenes and making sure he had crime lab people working at both locations. With two crime scenes to cover, he’d had to call his supervisor to send out two crime lab crews. Each team was made up of a scientist and a lab tech or assistant. Since the crime lab folks didn’t work weekends, they’d be on overtime.
He’d put the first team from Lincoln City on the officer-involved shooting, and the second from Newport on the pharmacy. While he was waiting for the teams to get there, he questioned the various officers who’d responded to the armed robbery at the pharmacy and the ensuing chase.
The suspects had fled on foot, but Callen suspected they’d had a vehicle waiting for them not far away. Or maybe they had a preplanned meeting place. Which posed another question—what was the kid doing in the warehouse alone while his buddies were hotfooting it to the getaway vehicle?
Maybe the boy hadn’t been alone. And if not, why hadn’t his cohorts moved in to protect him? Had they all gone into the old warehouse and out the other side? With it being a condemned building, all entrances should have been boarded up, but since when did that stop anyone? Maybe they’d escaped by boat. Callen paused to jot the notation down in his notebook. He’d ask the other officers about that possibility and bring it up when he questioned Delaney.
Callen’s gaze wandered over the wharf and bay. Here in the downtown area, rocky cliffs held back the ocean, leaving a wide opening, about a hundred feet, that served as an entryway into the cove. The cove provided a perfect place for fishermen to moor their boats and bring in their catch for processing.
He wandered down one of the piers, where a man was hosing down his charter boat. Large red letters on the bow read REEF CHARTERS. The guy wore a red-and-black flannel shirt with faded jeans and knee-high rubber boots—typical fishing apparel.
“This yours?” Callen asked as he approached the vessel.
Blue eyes warily looked him up and down. “Yep.”
Callen pulled his ID out of his left jacket pocket. “Detective Callen Riley. I’m with the Oregon State Police. We’re investigating a burglary.”
The fisherman glanced at the badge then turned back to his task. A stream of water shot from the nozzle, hitting the deck full force. The wind picked up some of the spray and tossed it in Callen’s direction.
He stepped back.
“Sorry about that.” The fisherman turned the nozzle on the hose to shut it off.
“No problem. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“Nope.”
Despite the man’s lined face, Callen judged him to be in his thirties, already a crusty fisherman.
“Uh—name’s Dean Jenkins.” The fisherman jumped onto the dock, setting it to rocking so hard that Callen had to grab hold of a nearby piling to keep from toppling. He set his legs apart to maintain his balance.
“How long have you been here today?” Callen asked.
“Depends. I came out around 4:00 this morning. Took a couple guys out bottom fishing. We all got our limits and came in. Been in for about an hour.”
“Did you see or hear anything unusual around here this morning?”
Jenkins frowned then turned the nozzle back on, moving the stream of water back and forth across the dock, where the morning’s catch had apparently been gutted and cleaned.
“Nope. Why’re you asking?”
Callen used the back of his arm to wipe perspiration off his forehead. Even though the temperature was only in the high sixties, the sun was baking him through his jacket and sweatshirt.
“There was an armed robbery at the pharmacy up the street around 9:00 this morning.”
“Sorry. We were still out past the breakers then.” Jenkins turned off the water at the spigot and began wrapping the hose in loops around a hook protruding from the piling. “Anybody hurt?”
“Mr. Bergman was injured, and we have one fatality.” Callen withheld the boy’s name and the circumstances.
Jenkins frowned and shook his head. “Too bad. You might want to talk to the guy who owns that rig across the way.” Jenkins pointed to a thirty-foot sailboat on the next dock over. “The owner lives aboard. Fellow by the name of Jake Ensley. Better do it quick though. He’s just passing through on his way to Victoria.”
“Thanks.”
Callen walked back up to the main dock. Coming up the ramp, he noticed what looked like a person lying inside the fence and directly behind the abandoned cannery. His system went on alert. He ducked beside a dumpster, checking the area. From his vantage point, he couldn’t tell if the guy was dead or just sleeping off the remnants of cheap booze.
There didn’t seem to be anyone around, so he hurried back the way he’d come and stopped at the fence. Whoever it was didn’t appear to be moving. Looked like a corpse to him—especially considering the dark stain on the bleached wood next to the body. The stain could be wine, but experience told him otherwise. He had to check it out before calling for another crime lab team.
Using his cell phone, he notified dispatch and asked to be connected with Nick Caldwell. While he waited, he looked for a way around the fence. The only way he could see to get in other than to cut off the lock was to swim.
He told Nick what he’d seen and asked him to bring cutters to deal with the lock. “I don’t see any easy way in here,” he said. “The building is boarded up.”
“Copy,” Nick said. “But we don’t have to go through the gate. Come on up to the front of the cannery. There’s a place on the far west end where the boards are loose that will give us direct access.”
Minutes later the three men squeezed through an opening that should have been boarded up to prevent trespassers from entering a dangerous area.
The rickety dock groaned and swayed with their weight as they walked the twenty or so feet to the body. Nick emerged from the building and joined them.
Callen hunkered down to get a better look. A kid, eighteen maybe. “He’s dead.” He glanced up at the two grim faces.
Nick frowned and motioned toward the body. “The kid looks familiar.”
“Could he be one of the gang members from the pharmacy?” Eric asked. “Maybe we wounded one of them.”
Callen shook his head. “This guy was shot at close range.”
“You can tell that just looking at him?” Eric gave him a skeptical look.
“There’s stippling on his face.” He pointed to the small red dots on the skin. “It’s caused by the powder exploding from the gun barrel in bullet projections and landing on and burning the skin. You only see that in shootings six feet and closer.”
Eric looked impressed. Nick seemed anxious to get moving.
Callen let out a long breath and called his supervisor to okay another lab team. It was going to be a very long day.
Angel’s doorbell rang promptly at 6:00. When she opened the door, Brandon was standing there in his charcoal gray suit, looking like the lawyer he was. He had thick, sandy brown hair, gray-blue eyes, and a killer smile. He turned that smile on her now as he handed her a bouquet of roses with baby’s breath and ferns. “Picked these up on my way over.”
Angel’s breath caught as he pulled her into his arms for a kiss. “You look gorgeous,” he said when they came up for air.
“Thanks.” She’d taken pains to wear something feminine. Normally she’d have settled for a casual sweater and khaki pants, but tonight she’d dressed in a sleeveless black dress and topped it with a long-sleeved blouse that shimmered in iridescent shades of purple and teal as she moved. “Why don’t you come in for a minute while I put these in water?” The delicate pink roses were just opening. Soft fragrant petals tickled her nose when she buried her face in the blooms. “This was really nice of you.”
“Perfect roses for a perfect lady.” He came up behind her, and with his hands on her shoulders, nuzzled her neck.
Angel shrugged out of his embrace and set the flowers on the table. “What a line. I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”
/> He chuckled. “Only those named Angel. And I only know one Angel.” His arms came round her again, pulling her close and bending down for another kiss. She stretched up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, thinking how perfectly they fit together, she at five-four and he at five-eleven.
At the moment Angel couldn’t imagine why she and Brandon hadn’t married. She liked being with him. Felt comfortable around him—most of the time.
And he brings me roses.
He released her and sighed as he checked his watch. “Much as I’d like to just stay here and keep doing what we’re doing, I’m starving.”
“So you’re telling me your stomach takes precedence over me.” She managed a smile.
“You got it.” Brandon turned her around and steered her toward the door.
They were on their way out when Angel’s neighbor, Rob Landis, reached out and snatched up his newspaper. “Hey, guys. How’s it going?” He didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed about being caught in his ribbed tank undershirt and boxer shorts. Turning to Angel, he said, “Saw you on the news tonight. Well, not you, they put a picture up. You, uh... doing okay? I mean, hey, tragic mistake. But the kid was bad news, right?”
Angel wasn’t certain how to respond. She was tempted to walk away without commenting, but that would be rude. Rob and his wife, Brenda, had helped Angel move into her apartment.
“Yeah.” Angel glanced at Brandon. “Terrible mistake. But you do what you have to do. I’ll talk to you later; we’re just going out.”
“Sure. Have fun. Hey, want me to record this stuff for you? It’s not every day you get that kind of news coverage.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’ll catch it later.” Or not. How could the man be so blasé about something so horrendous?
“Okay. Think I’ll record it anyway.”
Brandon took her arm as they walked down the steps. “What’s he talking about?”
“Long story. I’ll tell you later.” As they reached the landing, her heart dropped to the vicinity of her knees. “Oh, no,” she groaned. “I should have known.”
The media had found her.
There were no newspapers or television and radio stations in Sunset Cove. Most of these people had come in from Portland. No doubt the entire state, maybe the entire country, would know about her involvement in Billy’s death after tonight. She hadn’t thought about the far-reaching effects of the shooting until now. She thought seriously about going back inside and curling up under the covers.
Cameras flashed and whirred as Brandon and Angel approached his car. The press had apparently been hanging around the parking lot, waiting for her to appear. Brandon unfortunately had parked his shiny black Lexus beside her Corvette. “We’d like to ask you a few questions,” several reporters asked simultaneously.
“No comment.” Angel flinched when someone stuffed a microphone in her face.
“You killed a child, Ms. Delaney.” The woman’s voice had an accusatory edge. “What do you have to say to his parents?”
The unfair accusation cut deep. Angel stopped and glared at the reporter. “That child was a gang member. He had a gun.”
She bit her lip. Not a smart move. It won’t do any good to antagonize the press. “I’m sorry it happened. I was only doing my job.”
“You don’t have to defend yourself to these people, Angel.” Brandon pressed closer to her and in a low voice added, “It might be better if you don’t say anything at all.”
He lifted his arm to protect her and pushed through the mob to his car, then opened the passenger side door and guided her inside. Relieved, she sank into the comfortable leather seats, strapping herself in. The press swarmed around the car like yellow jackets around a garbage can.
Brandon ducked into the car and shut his door. “I’m sorry, Angel. I saw them milling around when I came in, but I had no idea they were after you.” His jaw tightened as he maneuvered the car between what had to be twenty people. “If I’d known, I would’ve parked on the street and hustled you out the back.”
Angel bit her lip, wondering what he was thinking. “I should’ve realized they’d come after me as soon as they found out about the shooting.” She looked back. The press was already disbanding, getting into their cars and vans.
Brandon drove around until they were certain none of the vultures had followed them, then he headed for the restaurant. Once they’d been seated, handed menus, and ordered drinks, he leaned forward, arms on the cloth-covered table. “Want to tell me about it?”
“No.” She sighed. “But after all you’ve just been through, you deserve an answer.”
“Darn right. If I hadn’t been there to rescue you, they’d have picked your bones clean by now.”
Angel chuckled despite her sour mood. “I wouldn’t go that far. I could’ve handled them on my own. But thanks.” The lights had dimmed, and in the candle’s glow, Angel recounted the day’s events until the waiter came to take their order. They both ordered the salmon special with Caesar salads. When the waiter left, Brandon sat there a moment, staring at the flowers in the center of the table.
Angel felt a moment’s fear while she waited for his response. Would he tell her he couldn’t afford to be connected with her?
“Not that it’s any consolation,” he finally said, “but it sounds like you did the right thing.” He reached across the table to take her hand.
She relaxed. She should have known Brandon wouldn’t send her packing. His parents would, but Brandon wasn’t like them—most of the time. “I guess. I don’t know. I keep wondering if I reacted too quickly. I honestly thought he was going to fire his weapon.”
Not a weapon. A toy. Angel rubbed her forehead, trying to ease away the beginnings of another headache. She took a sip of tea and lifted her gaze to Brandon’s. “Why would he do that? Earlier in the pharmacy he acted like he was going to give himself up, but maybe that was a ruse to get me to let my guard down so his buddies could have a clear shot at me.”
Brandon shrugged. “I guess we’ll never know, unless he forgot his gun wasn’t real.”
“How could he not know?”
“Got me. If he wasn’t so young, I might suspect that he wanted you to shoot him.”
“Suicide by cop?” Angel knew of several situations in which people had forced a confrontation with an officer, hoping they would be killed.
The waiter eyed her warily as he placed a bread basket on the table and refilled their water glasses. She was going to have to get used to those sidelong glances and wary looks. No matter where she went, people would wonder.
When their waiter left, Angel lifted the warm linen cloth lining the basket and withdrew a rosemary herb roll. “I’m in real trouble here, aren’t I? Even if I was following police procedure, the press is going to fry me.”
“Not necessarily. Most people are sympathetic with the police where known criminals are concerned. From what you’ve told me, the kid was a gang member.”
Angel didn’t see it that way. There was little or nothing right about what she’d done. “Brandon, if...” She set her bread on the plate and glanced down at her folded napkin.
“If?”
“The union is supposed to provide a lawyer, but I’m not sure I feel comfortable with someone I don’t know. If I need legal advice...”
Brandon reached for her hand. “I’ll be there for you. Count on it.”
She smiled. “I’m sorry to spoil our dinner with this stuff.”
“I wanted to hear about it.”
“Thanks.” She drew in a deep breath. “You know what I really want?”
“What’s that?”
“I’d like to forget about Billy Dean Hartwell for now. Let’s have a nice dinner and talk about something totally unrelated.”
“Good idea.” Brandon tore his roll in half and slathered butter on it before taking a bite. “When we’re finished eating I have a surprise for you.” A mischievous grin lifted the corners of his mouth and lit up his eyes.
“Can you give me a hint?”
“Nope.”
The waiter brought their salads and refilled their water glasses again.
“So what do you want to talk about?” Brandon asked.
“You.”
Brandon talked briefly about his work, not going into much detail. Being the junior partner in the law firm, he got many of the cases his father and older brother, Carl, passed on. The business had been started by Brandon’s great-grandfather. Unlike most law firms, which either specialized in criminal law or corporate law, they covered all types of cases. Brandon handled a lot of bankruptcies and divorces but hoped some day to move into criminal cases.
“Have you heard about the Kelsey case?” Brandon asked.
“Who hasn’t? Are you representing her?” Michelle Kelsey was the primary suspect in her husband’s disappearance.
“Yeah.” His grin reminded Angel of a kid with a giant Snickers bar.
“I hope you get her off, Brandon. Scum like Jim Kelsey deserve what they get. I don’t blame her for killing him.”
“I’m not just going for an acquittal. Michelle says she didn’t do it, and I believe her.”
“You can’t be serious.” Angel reached for her glass of iced tea. “There were witnesses at the restaurant who said they’d been arguing. And she’d bought a gun a week before he disappeared.”
“All circumstantial evidence,” Brandon argued. “There’s no body, remember, and no way to prove he’s dead.”
“Her gun had been fired recently.” Angel tore her roll in quarters and set them aside.
“She says she’d used it for target practice.”
“Right—and she used her husband as the target.” Angel reported what she’d heard about the case secondhand. Though she knew the Kelseys, she hadn’t been involved with the investigation.
“She’s not a killer. She’s a victim.” Brandon’s hand pressed into a fist.
“Brandon, I’m on her side. I’ve seen her bruises more times than I care to remember. I must’ve been called out to their place at least three times since I’ve been here, and she never pressed charges.”
Deadly Aim Page 6
