Sam laughed aloud. True anywhere.
“Sam, I want to change the subject for a minute.”
“Sure, what’s on your mind?”
“How are things going?”
“Pretty well, I think. I’m kind of enjoying the way business is done around here. The courts are a lot more flexible in terms of pleadings and timelines, and the prosecutors are damned sure easier to work with. On the civil side, counsel are much, much easier to work with than they are in D.C.”
“Got a theory?”
“Sure. I think it’s because as an attorney around here, you’re going to have to interact more with your peers. So while in a particular case I might have the facts and the law on my side, I’d best keep in mind that the next time counsel and I meet she might have the hammer. Attorneys have to cooperate. On the other hand, in a place like D.C., lawyers can try and bury each other, because the opportunities for retribution are few and far between.”
“Interesting take. Well, it looks to us like you’ve gotten the hang of things quickly.”
“Thanks, Paul. I can’t thank you enough for the opportunity. Not a lot of folks would have given me this shot.”
“Well, I figured you’d be up to the job,” Norquist said, doodling on his desk pad. “Sam, I’m kind of uncomfortable asking this, so I’m just going to say it: word is you been drinking a lot.”
“Anyone say I’m drinking on the job?”
“Of course not. If I’d heard that, you’d be gone. But word is—”
“Word is irrelevant,” Sam interrupted. “It’s no one’s business what I do when I’m not on the job.”
“Sam, this is a small town. People talk. I can’t have people thinking that we’re anything other than God-fearing, toe-the-line types. I’ve spent my professional life building something here. This practice is my life’s work. It’s all I have.”
“I respect that, Paul. I really do. And I respect everything you’ve done for me. You gave me a shot. But I don’t like being watched.”
“Fair enough. All I’m asking you to do is keep it on the down-low.”
“Done.”
“And one more thing,” Norquist said.
“Yes?”
“You’re not giving any thought to taking on the defense in Emily’s case, are you?”
“I hadn’t given it any thought, no,” Sam said. “Have they caught the guy?”
“No, but it’s just. . . It’s just that this is a small town, and folks won’t take kindly to someone defending her killer.”
“The law says—”
“Oh, screw that. I know the law, Sam, and I’m just as convinced of the need for a righteous, vigorous defense as you are. But everyone in this town knew Emily. It ain’t right, but folks won’t approve of whoever helps the guy. That’s the kinda thing could ruin me.”
“I understand.”
“Again, I don’t give a damn what anyone says, I built this and I don’t want to see it go to hell over one guy.”
“I hear you, Paul.” Sam looked at his watch. “I’ve got a hearing in front of Daniels here in a few minutes.”
“Do it,” Norquist replied. “When you get back, I want to talk to you a little more about that private road matter I mentioned some time back.”
12
Punch was getting moderately irritated. He’d parried the boss’s questions now for about an hour. And while it was true that—unlike a fair number of police chiefs—this one had law enforcement experience, it was just as true that he hadn’t worked in the field since Christ was a corporal.
Chief of Police William “Buck” Lucas had been appointed by the city council when Clinton was president and had served at their pleasure since. Punch had all the respect in the world for the chief’s ability to manage an office, but because he had little recent field experience with serious crimes, Punch didn’t see the value in having him grading his paper on a murder investigation.
“Chief, you’ve got to understand. We’ve only had this case a couple of days. You’ve got to give me some time to get folks in there to fully develop the evidence. Once I do that, then we can start to get you some answers,” Punch said, as calmly as he could.
“Was there a struggle?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Really, I’m surprised. I’da thought she’da fought like a cat.”
“I don’t think she saw it coming, but just in case she did and maybe got her licks in I’ve already got people watching the emergency rooms and the walk-in clinics all over town.”
“Any footprints?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know whose they are yet. We had a lot of people tromping around before we got the crime scene guys on scene.”
“Ah, shit. The prosecutor is not gonna like that.”
“The prosecutor’s not the one who is trying to deal with this real-time.”
“I know that, Punch, but goddammit, we have to give them the best evidence that we can! That’s our job. That's what we get paid for.”
“I know what my job is, boss. And I’m trying to do the best I can. These situations develop quickly, and it’s not like my people are seeing murders every day. I think we’ve done a pretty damned good job so far, and I think if you give me some time we’ll have the evidence we need for you and the county attorney to get a conviction and keep the taxpayers happy.”
“When?”
“As soon as possible, boss. What’s it been—forty-eight hours?”
“What are you thinking right now?”
“Well, there was a knife. I always figure that anyone using a knife is either really, really pissed off or a nutcase. In this case, it was one clean cut.”
“Did he beat her?”
“No apparent evidence of that. It looks to me like he came up behind her and did the deed quickly and cleanly.”
“Where'd you find her?”
“In the upstairs hallway.”
“Was there blood anywhere else?” Lucas asked.
Punch shook his head no, and then remembered. “Yeah, there was, and I don't think it was hers. It was downstairs in the sink. No way she could have bled both places from a neck wound like that. Maybe he cut himself during the attack. Too soon to know.”
“She was killed right there in that hallway, right?”
“As far as I can tell. Looking at all the blood spatter on the walls, there was a lot of spray, and looks like he walked up right behind her and grabbed her by the forehead, tilted her head back, and slit her throat in one quick motion.”
“So, she turned her back on him. That means she knew him, right?”
“Maybe. Or maybe she didn't know he was in the house at all,” Punch countered. “Could be they did not know each other. Could be that he is some kind of a freak who’s been watching her. Could be that she was just really, really unlucky and he picked her house for no reason at all. I just don't know yet.”
“Your working theory is going to influence how you go about solving this case.”
Punch looked at him dolefully. “I know that, which is why I want to wait until I’ve got something from the crime scene boys.”
“I want you to keep me posted on this, Punch,” Lucas said. “I don't need people panicking. For right now, our working theory is going to be that we think it is someone that she knew.”
“But I am not that far,” Punch protested. “I just can’t say that yet.”
“You don't have to—I will. I’m going to say that to try and quell any rumors of a goddamned nutjob running around this town,” Lucas said. “I’m gonna do a press conference at five o’clock day after tomorrow, and the city council wants a full report at tomorrow night’s meeting.”
“I wish you wouldn’t do that, boss.”
“Got to be done, Punch. My job is public safety, and part of that job is to keep people from panicking.”
“Ann, come right in.” Chief Deputy County and Prosecuting Attorney Mike Shepherd closed the door behind her as she took a chair in his cluttered office.
Shepherd had been County Attorney Rebecca Nice’s right-hand man and loyal confidant for the entirety of her four-year tenure. He was smart, wary, and extremely political, Ann knew. “What can I do for you?”
“You can assign me to assist you with the prosecution of whoever killed Emily Smith,” said Ann.
“What in the world are you talking about?”
“Emily Smith’s murder.”
“Has there been an arrest?” He pulled an egg from a paper bag on his desk and tapped it on his desktop.
“Not yet, but from what I hear they are moving pretty quickly,” Ann lied. “They expect to make an arrest any time now.”
“Goodness,” said Shepherd, peeling the egg. “I guess we better start thinking about how we are going to deal with this.”
“Well, Mike, you are the chief deputy prosecutor, so unless the prosecutor takes the case from you, this is your case.”
“I know that. But I haven’t tried a murder case since that drug deal went bad in 2010. That was before you got here. I don’t have a burning desire to do that again,” he said, and popped the egg into his mouth.
“I want it, Mike,” Ann said. She felt a little queasy watching him.
He held up a finger while he chewed, then took a drink from a bottle of soda on his desk. “I admire your ambition, but you don’t have a lot of experience yet. Murder investigations and prosecutions are not for the novice.”
“Mike, I’ve been a prosecutor here for five years! I am tired of dinking around with misdemeanors and minor felonies. I can promise you a conviction. How else am I gonna learn if I’m stuck dealing with penny-ante bullshit? Let me sit second chair, at least.”
“I’m gonna have to talk to Rebecca,” he said. He reached into the bag and retrieved another egg. “It’s her call. She answers to the voters.”
“Obviously. But when you talk with her, tell her that I want the case.”
“I’ll do that. But you know that if I don’t take it, by all rights it should go to Cathy. She’s the next most senior prosecutor.”
“Mike, I understand. But I don’t think she’s gonna want it, either.”
“I will check with Rebecca and let you know,” he said, tapping the egg lightly on his desktop.
“Thanks, Mike. That’s all I can ask.”
“Ann?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you familiar with the old adage, ‘Be careful what you ask for?’”
“I am.” Ann laughed. “Don’t worry about me, Mike. This is exactly what I want, and I can handle it.”
13
It was just before the sun came up—what the Army termed “early morning nautical twilight”—and still hot. The choppers had left half an hour ago to take advantage of the cover of darkness. Sam and his men had exchanged gunfire with an unseen enemy, but after a few passes by the AC-130 gunships, whatever enemy was out there had likely been killed or skulked away. Sam’s troops had spread out among the convoy’s vehicles, intent on getting everyone back to the forward operating base safely. As if in slow motion, Sam saw trouble coming. He heard the gunfire, tried to determine the direction of attack, and then felt the concussion. He flew from the vehicle and was skidding down the middle of the road. He tried to get up, then felt the round impact his leg, looked up, and saw a wall of blood headed for him. It was a red tide, and it caught him and overtook him. He was trying to swim to safety, but his leg wouldn’t work. His men were on the bank telling him to swim to them, but he couldn’t make it. He was floating down a river of blood, screaming for help.
“Sam! Sam, you’re safe! You’re here with me!” Veronica was shaking him.
“O-Okay,” Sam said. “I’m fine.”
“Oh my God! No, you’re not!” she said. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“I’m cold. Just give me that blanket.” He managed a weak smile. “Just a nightmare. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? You’re covered in sweat,” she said, pulling a blanket over him. She was nude from the waist up. He remembered the red panties. “The sheets are soaking wet. I’ve been trying to wake you up.” She put her hand on his wet chest. “Your heart is pounding.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are not! What is wrong?”
“Just had a nightmare. It happens.” He was out of breath but attempted a smile. He looked at the digital red numbers on his clock showing two a.m., then pushed himself up on the mattress and gestured toward his leg, which was leaning against the nightstand. “Can you hand me my leg?”
“Of course,” she said. He watched as she went to the nightstand, grabbed his artificial leg, and handed it to him. Unlike others, she seemed unfazed. “Can I help?”
“No, I’ve got this,” he said, while positioning the leg and beginning the process of affixing it to his body. “I’m pretty good at it by now.”
She sat on the bed, watching him intently. The perspiration had literally soaked him, and his hair was plastered to his forehead. “Sam, I don’t know what to say. Obviously, I’ll never be able to understand how terrible it was. But you’ve got to get some help.”
He said nothing, still focused on getting the leg on properly. “Do you hear me?” she asked.
“I hear you. Look, lots of bad things happen to people every day. I’m no different. I just need to work through this. I’ll be fine.” He slid off the bed, the artificial leg now firmly attached. Then, flexing the leg, he stood and walked to the bathroom. “I gotta take a leak, and I need a shower.”
Veronica lay on her back, staring at the ceiling and listening to the shower for a long time. When he didn’t come out after fifteen minutes, she dressed and left.
14
Since murders in Wyoming were still rare enough to make the front page of every paper in the state, Lucas knew a lot of attention would be paid to this one. Still, he wasn’t prepared for the crowd of reporters assembled on the steps of the law enforcement complex. The local newspaper guy and radio reporter were there, of course, as was a young woman he recognized as being from the Casper paper of record. He was surprised to see television cameras—one from the Denver metropolitan area, and one from Rapid City. This didn’t bode well, because as far as he knew, the more salacious details of the crime had yet to emerge. Once those were out, he might well have a real shit-show on his hands.
He gave a statement while one of his deputies handed out copies of his resume. A little publicity couldn’t hurt.
“Chief, do you have any suspects?” It was Sarah Penrose, a writer with the local newspaper, the Custer Bugle.
“Not yet; we’re in the early stages of our investigation.”
“But isn’t it true that the first forty-eight hours are arguably the most critical to an investigation?”
“Generally, yes.”
“And yet you have no suspects?”
“None that I’m prepared to name at this time.” This was not going as well as he had hoped.
“So you do have one or more suspects?”
“We have some people we’re interested in, is all I’ll say,” he responded tersely, recognizing his mistake.
“Could this be the work of a serial killer?” asked the Denver television reporter.
“Doubtful.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because we’ve got no evidence of any other crime.”
“But if another murder was committed, that would be evidence, right?”
“How the hell can I answer that right now?” he snapped.
“Have you discerned a motive?”
“No. As I mentioned, we are still in the early stages of our investigation.”
“Is terrorism a possibility?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m asking if this could be a terrorism incident.”
“I think we can safely rule that out,” Lucas said, shaking his head.
“On what basis?”
“On the basis that a) there is no evidence of terrorism, and b) that it’s stupid.”
<
br /> “But if you don’t yet have a motive, how can you know that it isn’t terrorism?”
“In the same manner that I know that Sasquatch didn’t cut her throat.”
“Her throat was cut?” interjected the Rapid City reporter, keying in on the newly-released evidence.
Punch, watching the spectacle live on his office television, crushed his paper coffee cup and threw it against the wall. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me,” he said as he hit the mute button. “Are you recording this, Jensen?”
“Yes, boss.”
“Okay. You watch this farce and make me a list of all of the facts that he discloses to the press.”
“What are you gonna do with it?”
“Nothing,” Punch said as he put on his hat and headed out the door. “But I’ll know what information the average idiot has, so when I interview someone who wants to confess, I’ll know what he could have found out compliments of the chief.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going out to look for clues.”
“Where?”
“Wherever I can find one. But I’m gonna start at Emily’s house.”
Jensen un-muted the television and focused on the press conference.
“Is the public in danger?” a reporter asked.
“We don’t believe there is any significant danger to the public,” Lucas said, trying to choose his words carefully.
“So, you are unable to rule out a threat to public safety at this time?”
“What I’m saying is we have no indications of a threat to public safety at present.”
“Well, you have a dead girl and an unsolved crime, don’t you?”
While Lucas tried to formulate an answer, Jensen rummaged through a desk drawer, trying to find pen and paper.
“So, just out of curiosity, when they find out who did this, would you consider defending the guy?” Veronica asked. She was pushing peas around the plate with her fork, apparently not very hungry. This was the second time they’d been out to dinner together. It had been a couple of days since Emily’s body was found, and her murder was topic number one around town.
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