Justice in Mystic Grove
Page 1
JUSTICE IN MYSTIC GROVE
A Liz Bean Mystery
S.F. BOSE
Table of Contents
Books in the Liz Bean Mystery Series
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
A Message from S.F. Bose
The Liz Bean Mystery Series
About the Author
Books in the Liz Bean Mystery Series
by S.F. Bose
MISSING IN MYSTIC GROVE (#1)
MURDER IN MYSTIC GROVE (#2)
JUSTICE IN MYSTIC GROVE (#3)
Copyright
JUSTICE IN MYSTIC GROVE
A Liz Bean Mystery
Copyright ©2019 by S.F. Bose
First Edition | June 2019
http://www.sfbose.com/
Cover art by San Coils at Coverkicks
https://www.coverkicks.com/
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The exception is the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, organizations, businesses, incidents and events portrayed in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 9781094862972
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
For my family ~ I love you all forever.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to:
My beta readers, Laurie, Kerry, and Louise
My friends, who still let me talk about different ways to murder people
Sam ~ changing your litter every day kept me grounded
All the voices in my head that lead me to these stories
Epigraph
“The law and justice are not always the same”
~ Gloria Steinem
Chapter 1
I’m not a morning person and Mondays are the worst. As I sat in my office drinking my second mug of caramel cappuccino, I willed the caffeine to kick in. I needed to be alert and clear-headed today. My eyes drifted to one of my new business cards lying on the desk. “Liz Bean Private Investigator,” I read aloud in a low voice and smiled. It had a nice ring to it.
After working for Nolan Private Investigations as a paid intern for four months, Sam Nolan sponsored me as a full-time employee. I jumped through all the testing and background checks to get my state PI license. Now I had a job with a decent salary, insurance benefits, a 401(k), and authorization to carry my Glock 19 at work. Life was good.
The front doorbell chimed at 9:00 a.m. announcing a visitor. Sam’s dog, Flip, barked in the office next door and Sam shushed him. As an office dog, Flip was a work in progress.
I jumped up and moved to my office door. I was expecting a new client, and she was punctual. I closed my office door so I could do a final check in the full-length mirror on the back.
Instead of my usual casual attire, I had dressed for success today. I wore a cornflower blue silk shirt jacket, cotton tank top with blue and white horizontal stripes, and a white pencil skirt. My toes curled in comfortable brown pumps. After running my fingers through my silver-white pixie haircut, I nodded. I was ready.
I hurried out into the hall and heard voices in the reception area. My boss, Sam Nolan, chatted with a young, twenty-something couple. She had curly, auburn hair to her shoulders and he wore his curly auburn hair short. The man sported a short beard. They were both dressed casually in jeans, tee shirts, and light jackets. The woman carried a large tote bag. Sam was also dressed casually in black jeans and a gray Henley. His gray tweed Irish flat cap sat at a jaunty angle on his black hair. Clearly, I had overdressed for the day.
Flip stood next to Sam watching the couple’s every move and no doubt hoping for a doggy treat. When he saw me, the dog trotted over and I scratched his ears. Flip was a Golden Irish, a cross between a Golden Retriever and an Irish Setter.
“Here she is,” Sam said and smiled at me.
I smiled at the young woman. “Hello. I see you’ve met Sam. I’m Liz Bean. You’re Kerry Goodman?”
“I am. Hello,” Kerry replied and shook my hand. She had a shy smile and big blue eyes. The young man stared at my silver-white hair and frowned.
Kerry made a face. “This is my brother, Mackenzie. Mac for short. I hope you don’t mind. I decided to invite him along.” Mac gave Kerry a dark look.
“Not at all,” I replied.
Mac startled and looked back at me. “No offense but are you old enough to be a private investigator?” he asked.
Kerry’s eyebrows shot up. “Mac!”
Sam chuckled, and I laughed. “I’m a licensed private investigator, Mac. Definitely old enough.”
“She’s my best investigator,” said Sam. I smiled. I’m your only investigator, I thought.
“Let’s go to my office and talk,” I said and Kerry nodded.
As I turned toward the hallway, she said, “This is a beautiful space.”
I stopped and looked back at the reception area. The cream-colored walls and ceiling contrasted with amber-toned crown molding, dark oak trim, and warm oak floors. We had an old, wooden desk for a receptionist we hadn’t hired yet. Across from the desk, a brown leather love seat, two leather chairs, and a wooden coffee table formed our waiting area.
Our office was on the second floor of the old Bowman Creamery building, which dated back to 1845. Despite many renovations by previous tenants, I thought our office lacked appeal.
“You don’t think it looks too… stodgy and masculine?” I asked.
Kerry Goodman cocked her head and studied the front of the office again. “Well, some artwork and plants would soften the look.”
“That’s what I thought too! Artwork and plants,” I agreed.
“An elevator wouldn’t hurt,” Mac said drily, and I laughed. Our office was on the second floor and accessed by stairs.
I showed them to my office and they sat in the guest chairs. When they both declined anything to drink, I rounded my desk and sat down.
Kerry perched on the edge of her chair, swallowing frequently. Her eyes flitted around the office. She’s nervous, I thought.
In contrast, Mac slouched in his chair and looked sullen. When Kerry glanced over at him, she snapped, “Mac, stop acting like a two-year-old!”
Mac sat straighter and muttered, “Am not,” which made me smile.
Kerry’s cheeks turned red in either anger or embarrassment. She sat back in her chair. “I’m sorry. Mac is ambivalent about hiring a private investigator.”
“Private investigators are expensive,” he replied. “It’s not like on TV.”
“Well, let’s not put the cart before the horse. Why don’t you start by telling me why you need a private investigator,” I prompted.
Kerry took a deep breath and nodded. “There’s a man, a deputy sheriff, who I think is involved in something dirty. Other police have told me he’s dangerous. I’d like you to investigate him. If possible, I’d like to see him prosecuted for anything he’s done that’s illegal.”
Flares fired off in the back of my mind. Investigating a cop could be problematic for many reasons. “What’s his name?” I asked.
“Steven Meagher,” Kerry replied and I heard the distaste in her voice.
I opened my notebook. “How do you spell that?” Kerry spelled out Meagher’s name and I wrote it down.
“And why do you think he’s dirty?”
Kerry sat forward. “I’m a reporter for the Wisconsin Daily Messenger. Months ago, my assignment editor wanted me to do a story on community policing. Do you know what that is?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Some towns need to supplement their local law enforcement with sheriff’s deputies. Other towns want to use deputies for all of their policing needs. So they sign a contract with the county sheriff and he assigns the appropriate number of deputies to work for that town. Town management provides office space for the deputies. They also sign a contract and pay a fee for the officers who work for the town,” Kerry explained.
I took a sip of coffee and nodded. “Okay, got it.”
Kerry glanced at her brother. Mac slouched with his arms folded and ignored her. She looked back at me.
“The newspaper gave me a list of towns who participated in community policing. First, I interviewed the head of the town government for feedback. They almost always liked contract policing because it was cost-effective. After that, I visited the local coffee shop in each town and talked to people there.”
“Did residents like the program?” I asked.
Kerry’s head bobbed up and down. “Most people did. However, some of the people I talked to in Braden weren’t as happy as people in other towns were. Steven Meagher was their contract police officer. One older man said Meagher was short-tempered, rough with the teens, gave out speeding tickets left and right, was a dirty cop, and asked for payoffs. His wife shushed him and begged me not to include that. She said Meagher wasn’t someone to cross.”
“Payoffs? What kind of payoffs?” I asked.
Kerry shook her head. “He wouldn’t say.”
“What did other townspeople say?”
Kerry frowned. “I spoke to thirteen residents in Braden. Every one of them refused to go on the record or have their name used in the article. They all mentioned Meagher’s temper, the speeding tickets, and that he was a dirty cop. When I asked for details on the dirty cop allegation, they clammed up. Then I asked about payoffs and again they refused to comment. Honestly, they seemed afraid.”
“Why did they talk to you then?” I asked.
“They all wanted to know if I could help them get a new contract policeman,” Kerry replied. “They wanted Meagher gone.”
Something was off. “But the town management was happy with him?”
“I spoke to the town chairman and three supervisors in a group meeting. They all liked contract policing and said Meagher kept the peace. They did say that he was tough and had his own methods, but he got the job done,” Kerry replied.
“So nobody raised any problems at town board meetings?”
Kerry shook her head. “Not that I could find. But again, I think the residents were afraid to say anything.”
“Okay, what happened next?” I asked.
“After that, I spoke to some deputies who worked in community policing. I wanted officers who worked in different towns. I called Steven Meagher’s office and left a message, but he never returned the call. When I spoke to the other officers, they all praised the program. However, when I mentioned that I’d had gotten negative feedback about one officer, I felt them…grow wary,” Kerry said.
“Did you give them Meagher’s name?” I asked.
Kerry shook her head vigorously. “No. I worried about the townspeople I’d spoken to in Braden. I didn’t want them to be the target of any retaliation. One officer said any citizen who was unhappy always had the option to call the county sheriff and file a complaint. I agreed and moved on to other questions. When I got back to the office, I talked to my editor about the bad cop angle. He asked me for the name of the officer. When I said ‘Steven Meagher,’ he told me to drop it. He seemed flustered. He also said he wanted to see an upbeat article about community policing.”
“Kerry, so far this sounds like it might be a case of sour grapes. Maybe the people you spoke to in Braden had run-ins with Steven Meagher and that’s why they were negative,” I suggested.
“No,” Kerry replied. “There’s more. I received a phone call from one of the officers I’d interviewed for the story. He asked me if I had been talking about Steven Meagher and I admitted I had been. He told me that Meagher was a loose cannon and had a violent temper. Many of the sheriff’s deputies considered him dangerous. However, there were rumors he had political connections that protected him. For all the complaints and charges filed against Meagher, the country sheriff never disciplined him.”
“Was he more specific about the political connections?” I asked.
“No, he didn’t give me any details. So I asked him if he thought Meagher was a dirty cop and he said, ‘I’m not sure but a lot of the deputies think he is.’ When I pressed him, he wouldn’t give me anything specific. Then the officer warned me that if I said anything about a bad contract deputy sheriff in my article, many people would know it was Meagher and it would get back to him. Nothing would happen to him, but it would be bad for me. He said he didn’t want to see me get hurt.”
She paused and then continued. “When I asked if he was helping Meagher by sharing veiled threats with me, he laughed and said I didn’t understand. Most of the sheriff’s deputies hated Meagher, but they feared him more. Then he swore me to secrecy and warned me to tell no one we’d spoken.”
“You’re sure it was a deputy sheriff you’d interviewed?” I asked.
“I’m positive,” Kerry replied. “At the start of the call, he gave me his name. He also has a distinctive voice.”
“How’d he get your number?”
Kerry looked glum. “I gave my business card to everyone I interviewed. That way, if they had more information, they could reach me.”
Mac chimed in. “After the interviews, we started getting hang-up calls at night. We also both felt like someone was watching us. A week later, someone slashed all four of the tires on Kerry’s car.”
A tingle ran down my spine. “They did? Did anybody see who did it?”
“No,” Kerry replied. “Mac and I rent a condo. We only get one assigned parking spot, so I park on the street. It’s difficult to see my car from our unit because of the trees.” She looked down and squeezed her hands together.
That made sense. Mystic Grove had strict rules about maintaining green space. Houses, condos, and apartment buildings were all set on large, rustic lots with old-growth trees.
I jotted down more notes and shifted in my chair. “Did you report the vandalism to the police?”
Kerry’s eyes met mine. “I did. I filed a report with the Mystic Grove police and they came out to look at the car. But I didn’t say anything about Meagher.”
“Why not?”
“Because I had no evidence he slashe
d the tires. He’d never contacted me or threatened me. All I had were comments by some people in Braden and a warning from a sheriff’s deputy who had sworn me to secrecy. I also didn’t know how the Mystic Grove police fit into the entire story.”
I stared at her and thought about it. She was right. “Okay, I get it. What happened next?”
Kerry sighed. “I filed a claim with my insurance company and got new tires. I also submitted my story on community policing and the paper printed it. It was a puff piece. I wish I could make it disappear.”
“Anything else?” I asked.
Mac spoke for the first time. “We started an investigation.”
“You did what?” I asked him.
“We both decided to investigate Meagher,” Kerry replied.
My eyes shifted from her to her brother. The beard hid a very young face. “Mac, what do you do for a living?”
He frowned. “I’m a computer science graduate student at the university. I’m also a remote employee of Secure Tech, a cybersecurity company, in Chicago.”
“What do you do at Secure Tech?”
He sat up straighter. “I work in enterprise security. I help to identify security weaknesses and covert activity on a company’s computer network. Then I make recommendations on neutralizing current threats and preventing future threats and attacks.”
Closing my eyes, I suppressed a groan. Amateurs! “So a newspaper reporter and a computer geek decided to investigate a dangerous cop?”
Mac bristled. His blue eyes, identical to Kerry’s, flashed in anger. “I’m a security expert not a geek. I can also find information on anybody and anything.”
“I have access to some online databases too. We didn’t plan to confront Meagher. We just wanted to see if we could dig up some evidence against him,” Kerry explained.
“What did you find?” I asked.
Mac looked at his sister. “Tell her about how he killed his first wife.”
My blood pressure spiked. “What?”
Kerry’s mouth tightened and she shook her head. “Although the case was suspicious, they never charged him.”