by L A Dobbs
Jo shifted in her seat, nervous at the question about her former colleague. “What about him?”
“Well, it’s just that his case is still open and...” Kevin let his words drift.
Tyler Richardson, an officer in the White Rock Police Department, had been killed earlier in the summer. At first it appeared as if he’d been shot at a routine stop pulling over to help someone change a flat tire. But that was before things turned strange.
Tyler’s murder gutted Jo. She’d worked closely with Tyler. He was a good man. Even though at the age of twenty-eight he was ten years her junior, they’d been good friends. And Tyler was a kind soul, putting most of his earnings toward his disabled sister’s medical bills. He was a good guy. Or so she’d thought.
That was before they’d discovered a key under his desk and a large deposit in his bank account. Now she wasn’t so sure about Tyler.
To make matters even more curious, the county sheriff and state police had taken over the investigation, claiming that Jo and Sam couldn’t be objective. But they’d found nothing. Some of the reason for that might have been Jo’s fault. She’d forged the entry in Tyler’s log to record the stop. She’d done it so that it wouldn’t appear as though Tyler had screwed up. She didn’t want his name tarnished.
The rules were that they either called every stop in as soon as they stopped a car, or they recorded the stop in the log. Tyler’s stop had been in the middle of the night. No one was manning the desk to take a call from him, so he was supposed to record the stop in the log. But it wasn’t unusual to put off logging the stop until later, when they returned to the station. They all did it. But Tyler never got back to the station.
Jo didn’t want it to look as if Tyler hadn’t followed the rules. But maybe if she hadn’t covered for him, the investigators might have found something.
Even though Sam and Jo weren’t officially investigating Tyler’s shooting, they’d still looked into it. One didn’t just let the case of a fallen colleague drop. They hadn’t found much either.
Jo looked out the side window at the passing scenery. Vibrant green fields dotted with colorful flowers gave way to layers of indigo mountains that reached into the azure sky in the distance.
“There have been no further clues,” Jo said. The official clues were a stolen car left at the scene with a dusting of cocaine in the ashtray and a partial fingerprint that had never been matched. Jo and Sam had never told anyone about the key or the money.
Kevin stared at her for a few seconds before he turned his eyes back to the road. “Okay. Well, like I said, if you need any help, I’d be happy to.”
Kevin had offered to help them before, but Sam and Jo had figured it was best to keep things between the two of them. They weren’t supposed to be working the case at all, so the fewer people who knew, the better. Besides, neither one of them had clicked with Kevin like they had with each other and Tyler. Jo figured that had a lot to do with the fact that Kevin worked only part time, and as such took the minor calls, while Jo, Sam and Tyler investigated the larger crimes. But now that Sam seemed to be avoiding furthering the investigation, maybe she should ask Kevin for help.
Jo shifted in her seat to look at Kevin. There was something off about him. He seemed too eager to fit in. Or was it something else? And it was strange that he hadn’t accepted the full-time position when it had been offered to him. Who could afford to live on a part-time salary? There were so many unanswered questions in Tyler’s investigation that maybe it was best to keep things the way they were.
Jo shrugged. “Thanks. I’ll let you know if anything opens up that we can look into. Right now, I guess the case has gone cold.”
Chapter Three
Sam pulled up in front of the construction trailer. Thorne’s red Cadillac was parked off to the side. Thorne was here, and no better time than the present to talk to him. Sam would’ve liked nothing better than to pin this murder on Thorne, but somehow he doubted that would happen. It was too obvious. Still, he had to do his job and talk to him.
He killed the Tahoe’s engine and pulled the keys from the ignition. In the passenger seat beside him Lucy’s eyes flicked from the red Cadillac to the trailer.
She whined.
“Yeah, bad guy inside.” Even a dog was smart enough to recognize that Thorne was bad news. Sam reached out and ruffled the fur on the back of her head. The soft silkiness on his fingertips comforted him. Lucy had been part of the police force for only a few months. They’d taken her on after she’d kept cropping up during another murder investigation. She’d been a stray then, with a keen nose for detective work. They’d finagled a K-9 grant and taken her on full time. She’d worked by Sam’s side every day and gone home with him every night since. Now he couldn’t imagine running the department without her.
“You stay here, girl.” Sam opened the Tahoe door and stretched his long legs to the ground. His black police boots kicked up dirt as he stalked up to the trailer. Lucy watched him protectively as he climbed the rickety wooden steps.
Sam had avoided Thorne since the incident at Holy Spirits, when Thorne had let him know that he had something on him from his past. Sam wasn’t afraid of Thorne, not for himself. But he was afraid for his best friend, Mick Gervasi. The bloodstained knife that had somehow found its way into Thorne’s possession had belonged to Mick, but Sam hadn’t seen that knife in more than twenty years. And the last time he’d seen it was a time he preferred not to think about.
How had Thorne come to possess the knife? As far as Sam knew, Thorne had nothing to do with the incident twenty years ago. He wasn’t even from the area. But Sam knew someone who might have had something to do with it: Mayor Harley Dupont. And the fact that Thorne now had the knife only confirmed Sam’s suspicions that Thorne had Dupont in his pocket.
Dupont had monopolized every town meeting, swaying votes so as to help further Thorne’s agenda. Despite the fact that most residents didn’t want the construction to continue, somehow main areas of the town were being rezoned for commercial use. And whenever Sam needed a search warrant in conjunction with any of the drug running that he suspected happened under Thorne’s command, Dupont managed to do something to stand in his way. Sam was sure Dupont was getting money from Thorne. How else would he be able to afford those expensive commercials he ran in advance of next year’s mayoral election?
But now that Thorne had the knife, Sam had to tread carefully. He had no idea if Thorne or Dupont knew its significance, but he suspected they did. And if they knew the truth about what happened twenty years ago, it could mean a whole lot of serious trouble for both Mick and Sam.
Sam couldn’t let his personal problems get in the way. He rapped hard on the thin metal door and then opened it without being invited in.
The inside of the trailer was more like a luxury suite at a four-star hotel than a utilitarian construction trailer. Thick, plush carpet in a rich jewel tone covered the floor. Mahogany bookcases lined one of the walls that were painted in a trendy muted gray. In the middle was a mammoth mahogany desk. Behind it sat Lucas Thorne, looking tanned and healthy. He wore a white button-down shirt and dress slacks. Odd attire for a construction site.
Thorne looked up sharply, and Sam thought he noticed a flicker of annoyance in his eyes, probably outraged that someone would dare enter the trailer without invitation. Then he recognized Sam, and his mouth quirked into an ugly smirk.
“What brings you here, Chief? Can’t be to harass me, as I’m sure you’re not that dumb,” Thorne said.
Sam took his time in answering. He sat in the chair across from Thorne and leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs. “I just have a few questions.”
Thorne leaned back, his chair creaking as he settled in, steepling his fingers over the ten pounds of extra padding on his belly. “Really? As far as I know, all my permits are in order.”
“It’s not about permits. It’s about murder.”
“Murder? I don’t know anything about any murder.” Thorne frowned.
“Jus
t discovered this morning. Over in that land right next to yours.” Sam pointed in the direction of the protected area.
“On my land?” Thorne asked.
“Nope, over on Jackson Pressler’s land.”
“So, what’s it got to do with me?” Thorne asked.
“Maybe nothing. I was just wondering if you heard or saw anything, being so close to that land. You know it’s protected because of the owls, right?” Sam asked.
“Oh sure,” Thorne said. “Those cute little furry owls. I love their faces with their big eyes. Don’t you? Good thing they’re protected. I’m all for that.”
“You don’t say? I would have thought maybe it might make you a little nervous to have an endangered species so close to your property.”
“Why’s that?”
Sam shrugged. “Maybe you don’t want the protected area to be expanded and interrupt your building plans.”
Thorne tilted forward in his chair, his feet slapping onto the floor. He leaned his arms on his desk and played with the gold penholder that sat on the corner, turning it slowly clockwise as he spoke. “So you think I’d kill someone for that?”
“Well, I don’t think you’d actually do the killing,” Sam said.
Thorne laughed. “You think I’d have someone killed because my construction was threatened? I’ve got plenty of land. And connections. Do you really think I’m stupid?”
Actually Sam didn’t think Thorne was stupid at all. Ruthless. Greedy. Conniving. But not stupid.
“No, I suppose not. But if you hear anything about it or if any of your crew heard or saw anything, let me know.” Sam stood up.
Thorne’s lips spread in a Cheshire cat smile. “Sure thing, Chief. Now that’s what I like to hear from you. Cooperation. See, you and me could be on the same side someday.”
Sam opened the door. Without looking back at Thorne he said, “I wouldn’t hold my breath on that.”
* * *
Because it was on the way to the station, Sam decided to swing by Jackson Pressler’s to see if he’d heard anything the night before. This time he let Lucy out of the Tahoe.
Jackson’s place was a century-old house that had once been a cottage and now featured so many additions built on over the generations that it couldn’t be classified as any particular style. It sat in a clearing, giant oaks shadowing the house and long driveway.
The random angles and jutting, mismatched additions weren’t the only unusual quality about the property. Dotted along the driveway and all along the front of the house, sculptures derived from old boards, rusted metal, discarded tires and other junk dominated the property. Jackson couldn’t stand to see anything go to waste, so he’d started collecting cast-off items and fashioning them into sculptures. Right now he was working on a giant horse made from old aluminum garbage cans, rusted rebar — some with globs of cement still clinging to them — and various odds and ends. Sam thought he saw an old fishing reel in the mix, and a muffler.
Jackson stopped his work, turning down the flame on the acetylene torch, and watched as Sam parked his Tahoe before getting out and approaching.
“Howdy.” Jackson held his hand out for Lucy, who sniffed tentatively, then, upon deciding that Jackson was a friend, moved in closer. Jackson petted her head for a few minutes before slowly rising, his knees popping as he used the sculpture for leverage.
“Hey, Sam. Is something wrong?” A tinge of worry clouded his gray eyes.
“Nothing that affects you. But someone was murdered up near the owl zone last night, and I wondered if you’d heard anything.”
Jackson’s eyes widened. “Murdered? My boy said he found someone, but I didn’t know it was murder. Who?”
“One of the environmental activists, I think.”
Jackson nodded slowly, watching Lucy as she sniffed her way around the sculpture. “Well, that’s a darn shame. I figured Thorne would do something.”
“You think Thorne murdered him?”
“Well, he’s building up there. His construction is impacting those owls, and you know the environmentalists have had it out with him a few times.”
“Killing one guy won’t help that,” Sam pointed out. “It’s not going to make the owls go away — or the environmentalists for that matter.”
Jackson pressed his lips together. “I suppose not. I didn’t hear anything, though. The zone is a bit far from my place, and I don’t hear so well these days.”
“Heard any rumors of trouble up there?” Sam asked.
“Trouble? Nah.”
“You don’t mind all those people traipsing around back there on your land?”
“Mind? No. I welcome it. Can’t use that land myself, and I’m proud to host those owls. It’s an honor to have something that the world thought was gone forever right in your back yard. In fact, that’s why I’m applying for a grant. To protect those owls and make sure they’re here for my grandchildren.”
“A grant?” Sam asked.
“Yep. I’m going to make an owl sanctuary. Protect the lands for them and make sure they have what they need to flourish. Maybe I can even get Thorne shut down.” Jackson winked at Sam. “You think that would work?”
Sam glanced north toward Thorne’s hotel site. You couldn’t see it from Jackson’s house, but it loomed there in the distance. Sam wished an owl sanctuary would rid the town of Thorne, but he didn’t think it would. “If only it could be that easy.”
Chapter Four
Jo pushed one of the double oak doors open and held it for Kevin, who preceded her into the White Rock Police Station lobby.
As in most small towns, the White Rock Police Station didn’t have the luxury of a fancy new building. The department was housed in the old post office. Apparently the U.S. Postal Service rated higher, because it got the new building.
The building dated to the 1930s and had somehow managed to retain all of its original charm, from the black-and-white marble floors to the original oak moldings with carved details. It still smelled of old paper and stamp glue, a welcome improvement over the musty basement of the town hall where the police station used to reside.
The postal workers had left behind their old furniture, which was just fine with Jo. She’d take the antique mission oak-style desks and chairs over the new plastic and metal crap any day.
The lobby was spacious, the only piece of furniture a large desk behind which sat their receptionist trainee, Reese Hordon. Still attending the police academy, Reese was a good kid who was a fast learner and not afraid to bend the rules when they needed bending. Jo liked her, especially when she brought jelly doughnuts from the local coffee shop, Brewed Awakening. She’d done that this morning, judging by the white bag that sat on the edge of her desk and the blob of jelly resting on the corner of her lips.
“Hey,” Reese greeted them.
Jo pointed to the right corner of her lips. Reese gave her a funny look, then grabbed a napkin and swiped at the blob as realization dawned. Jo nodded to indicate she’d gotten it all, but Reese’s eyes still held a note of uncertainty. Reese knew they had gone out to investigate a body, but she didn’t know whose body it was. Jo figured she’d worry it was someone from town and would want to know what they found.
“It wasn’t natural causes.” Jo reached into the white bag and took out a sugar-coated doughnut. “We think it was one of the environmentalists.”
“Oh?” Reese’s gaze drifted past Jo’s shoulder out the door. “Where’s Lucy?”
Jo started toward the K-cup coffee machine, doughnut in hand, and said over her shoulder, trying to sound casual, “Sam took her when he went to talk to Thorne.”
She rounded the line of antique bronze post office boxes with the embossed eagle above the beveled glass windows and twin dials that divided the lobby from the squad room. Hopefully Reese hadn’t caught on to the slightly hurt tone in her voice. It was silly to be hurt about Sam not taking her along. It made sense for them to split up, and she was probably reading too much into the way he’d been
acting.
“Thorne had something to do with it?” Reese asked.
“Maybe. The body was found not far from the hotel he’s building.” Jo picked a K-cup and put it in the machine then closed the lid. She pressed the blinking button and listened to the machine gurgle as the coffee poured into her yellow smiley-face cup. “Did any calls come in while we were out?”
“Ruthie Draper claims Bullwinkle ate her prize zinnias and wants a restraining order,” Reese said.
Jo snorted. The town moose even had his own Facebook page, where residents posted sightings of him. He was quite a celebrity around town, though Jo thought it was actually more than one moose. As long as the moose population was healthy enough to be seen around town, it was all good with her. Some of the residents weren’t too keen on Bullwinkle. He’d even been implicated in a murder last month.
“I suppose I’ll have to go out on that call,” Kevin said. “But I don’t know if I should do that or process these photos.”
Jo looked at him over the rim of her cup. “I guess Ruthie can wait. Process the photos now. Murder is more important than flowers.”
“We really do need to get that new hire,” Kevin said.
Jo glanced at the empty desk in the corner. Tyler’s desk. She knew why Sam had been dragging his feet on hiring someone new, but Kevin had a point. It had been several months and dozens of candidates.
“I think Sam has it narrowed down to a few. Maybe I can give him a nudge.” Jo sat behind her desk and carefully set the mug on a napkin. Even though the desk was almost one hundred years old and scarred from generations of postal clerks, she didn’t want to further the damage.
Jo glanced out the ten-foot-tall, round-topped window beside her. The squad room overlooked the town square. It was a typical northern New England town, most of the buildings dating to the early 20th century. The buildings had been kept up. The brickwork was still neat, the wood trim freshly painted. Some of the stores had been updated with awnings. A lush grass commons held the center of town, the site of municipal celebrations. It was cute. Quaint.
