by L A Dobbs
“I think we’d better —”
“Excuse me?”
The timid voice interrupted Sam, and they all turned to see Sally next to the post office boxes. She looked as if she might bolt at any second, her hand fiddling with the strap of the campy purse slung over her shoulder.
“Yes?” Sam asked.
“I have something to confess.”
* * *
“Let’s go into my office.” Sam held his arm out to indicate the direction for Sally, then looked at Jo and tilted his head toward his office. She was already at her desk picking up her notepad and pencil and the little recorder they used to tape confessions.
Sally walked into the office with slow, uncertain steps, and Sam pulled out the wobbly chair for her.
Lucy trotted over and sat beside her, and Sally petted the top of the dog’s head while Lucy shot adoring looks up at her.
Jo took her seat, her notebook poised in her lap and recorder switched on. Sam walked around behind his desk, the old steel chair creaking as he sat.
“So, why don’t you begin by telling us what you’ve come here to confess?” Sam said.
“Well, I … ” Sally started, her voice shaky. “I just wanted to come in and let you know that I knew Ray Ingalls before.”
“Before? You mean before meeting him here at the owl zone?”
“Yes.”
“You already told us that. What was the nature of your relationship?”
Sally’s cheeks turned pink. “We were very good friends.”
“Okay.” Sam leaned forwarded in his chair, his forearms on his thighs. “Why don’t you tell us how that pertains to this case.”
Sally shifted in her seat, the chair rocking. “Well, it was about two years ago. I had just started dating Peter, but I had known Ray from before.” Sally looked down at the floor.
“Okay,” Sam drew out the end of the word.
“Well, we had a little fling. I never told Peter. It didn’t amount to much.”
Jo glanced at Sam, a slight crease between her brows. She was thinking the same thing he was. This confession wasn’t going exactly the way he’d wanted.
“So you had history,” Jo said, the eraser end of her pencil slowly marking the seconds as it tapped on her notepad. “Did it end badly? Were there bad feelings? Did it hurt when you saw him again up here?”
Sally shook her head. “No, nothing like that.”
Maybe the hurt feelings weren’t on Sally’s end. Maybe it had been Ray. “So Ray didn’t react well to seeing you. Did he get violent?” Sam asked. Self defense?
“What? No. I mean, it was a little awkward because I was still with Peter, but luckily he didn’t say anything.” Sally looked up at Sam, her blue eyes clear and innocent. “I wanted to come and tell you because I don’t want Peter to find out. He has a little bit of a jealous streak, and he didn’t like Ray very much to begin with. He’d be really mad if he knew I had cheated on him with Ray.”
“So you killed Ray so Peter wouldn’t find out you had an affair two years ago?”
“Killed him?” Sally looked at Sam incredulously. “No! I didn’t kill him. I just came here to tell you because I figured you’d be digging into who Ray knew in the past. If my name came up, I didn’t want you to think I’d lied. I only lied because I didn’t want to tell you in front of Peter.”
Sam glanced at Jo. She shrugged. Seemed like she was telling the truth. What other reason would she have to come here? This confession certainly didn’t clear her of the murder.
“You weren’t worried that Ray would write about your affair in his book?”
Sally snorted. “Hardly. It was short and sweet. Nothing to write about. And even if he did, I doubt Peter would read the book. As I said, he didn’t like Ray. Besides, I didn’t even know he was writing a book.”
“And that’s all you have to tell us?”
Sally nodded. “You won’t say anything in front of Peter, will you?” Her hopeful eyes flicked from Sam to Jo.
Sam sank back in his chair. “So you had nothing to do with Ray’s death? Do you have any idea who did? Did he ever mention that he knew something about someone else when you were intimate?”
Sally shook her head. “No, and I can prove that I couldn’t be the killer, because—”
The sound of yelling came from the lobby. Sam was at the door in two strides.
Jackson Pressler stood over Kevin’s desk, his white hair sticking up as though he’d been rubbing his hands through it. He whirled around when he saw Sam.
“What in the heck are you all doing lounging around the police station when I need help?” Jackson bellowed.
Sam approached, his palms up. “Calm down, Jackson. What’s the problem?”
“Those damn environmentalists, I know it was them!”
“What was them?”
“The person who ransacked my new sculpture. I came back from the farmer’s market not an hour ago and found it in pieces all over my lawn.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“So your plan of flushing out the killer by telling him Pressler had incorporated the camera into his latest sculpture worked,” Jo said. The Tahoe sped toward the campsite. Once they’d found out about the sculpture from Pressler, they’d let Sally go and headed straight out.
“Had to be the killer. He must have thought the memory card was still in the sculpture. No one else would vandalize Jackson’s junk sculptures.”
“Jackson said it was dismantled as if someone was looking for something. Big difference between that and vandalism,” Jo agreed.
“Yep. And it has to be someone from the camp. Those are the only people we’ve told.”
“We can rule out Sally. She was with us at the time the sculpture was vandalized.”
Sam nodded. “Peter is at the top of my list. Sally said he has a jealous streak. Maybe he found out about the affair with Ray, or maybe he saw her paying a little bit too much attention to him and killed him out of jealousy.”
Jo chewed her bottom lip. “Or he could have another reason. He had an adversarial relationship with that big conglomerate associated with Thorne. Maybe he was trying to frame Thorne or thought somehow it would stop the construction near the owl zone.”
“Either way, we need to talk to him.”
Dust kicked up around the Tahoe, and the chassis jolted and bumped as Sam took the dirt road at about twenty miles per hour faster than he should. Good thing he was the chief of police. Anyone else driving this fast would get one whopper of a ticket.
The campsite was empty except for Peter, who was rummaging in his tent, tossing things out, apparently looking for something.
Sam, Jo and Lucy approached cautiously. Sam’s hand hovered around the gun on his hip. Lucy read the situation perfectly and stood by his side, muscles tense and ready to pursue Peter should he run.
Peter turned as they approached, his T-shirt damp with sweat. He looked annoyed. He ran his hands through his hair. “What are you doing here again? Didn’t you bother us enough earlier?”
“We came to talk to you, actually,” Sam said.
Peter planted his scuffed hiking boots shoulder width apart and crossed his arms over his chest. “Really? What about?”
“Are you looking for something?” Jo peered cautiously into his tent.
“Yeah, my raincoat. Forecast says rain. Is that what you wanted to talk about?” Peter bent down and rummaged through a duffel bag.
“Something new came up,” Jo said.
“So? Why are you telling me?”
“Where were you about an hour ago?” Sam asked.
Peter dropped the duffel bag and threw his hands up in exasperation, looking around the campground. “I’ve been right here since you guys left.”
“Can anyone verify that?” Sam asked.
“No, but Sally took the car and ran off somewhere and everyone else was gone, so how could I have left?” Peter asked.
Sam glanced at Jo. Were they wrong about Peter?
He stepped closer to them, and Lucy let out a slight growl. Peter’s eyes flicked to the dog.
“Yeah, don’t think about running. Now, I’ll give you a chance to do this the easy way. Were you at Jackson Pressler’s earlier today?” Sam asked.
Peter took a half step back, uncertainty and alarm in his eyes. “No. I told you, I’ve been here.”
Sam stepped closer. “Are you sure? Are you sure you didn’t go looking for the memory card?”
Jo also stepped closer, and Peter’s head turned in her direction. “And what are you really looking for? Or maybe it’s more evidence you’re trying to get rid of?”
“Evidence of what?”
“Why did you kill him?” Sam asked. “Was it jealousy, or did you want to stop the construction?”
“I didn’t kill Ray. Is that what you guys are getting so worked up about?” Peter sighed, and his shoulders relaxed. He glanced around the campsite as if to make sure no one else returned. “And I can prove it.”
“How?”
“Hold on. I can show you, but it’s in my tent, okay?”
Sam nodded, and Peter ducked into the tent. Sam kept his eye on him through the opening. Did he have a gun in there? Both Sam and Jo tensed. But when Peter backed out, he didn’t have a gun. He had a laptop.
“Is that Ray’s laptop?” Jo asked.
“No. It’s mine.” He flipped the laptop open, holding it against his chest with his left hand and typing on the keyboard awkwardly with his right. “I couldn’t say this before in front of everyone. Word’s not supposed to get out, but I’m doing a documentary on the inner workings of the whole environmental movement. You know, like a down-and-dirty behind-the-scenes kind of thing.”
“Kind of like Ray’s book?”
Peter shrugged. “Maybe. I didn’t know anything about Ray’s book. That’s a whole different thing. This is for TV.”
Sensing the emergency was over and her services wouldn’t be needed, Lucy relaxed and trotted off to sniff around.
“Okay,” Sam said. “How does this prove that you didn’t kill Ray?”
“Well, remember you came and asked if anyone left that night?” Peter asked.
“Yep. You said you were asleep in your tent and didn’t hear anyone leave.”
“Right, but we weren’t really asleep. We were up recording a video.”
“You mean you weren’t even in your tent?” Jo asked.
“No. We were in the tent, just not asleep. We do our filming at night after everyone else is asleep inside the tent with no lighting. It’s all hush hush,” Peter said. “It makes it more dramatic.”
Jo scrunched up her face as if she didn’t believe him. “Seriously? And no one ever saw or heard you?”
“Nah, it’s only a half hour, and we whisper.” Peter gestured toward the campsite, and Sam saw Lucy paying particular attention to the trash. Must be something good in there. “Why do you think we set our tent away from everyone else?”
Peter shifted position so they could see the screen. On it was a video of Peter and Sally huddled together inside their tent, their faces taking up the whole screen, the light from the laptop giving them a ghostly appearance.
“This doesn’t prove that you were here when Ray was killed,” Sam said.
“Sure it does. We upload them to a private account on YouTube. The videos won’t go public for another few weeks until we have enough of them to make a series.” Peter pointed to the timestamp on the videos. “Look at the upload date and time of this one — 2 a.m., right when you said Ray was killed. There’s no way I could have killed him out at the owl zone and gotten back to the tent in time to record this.”
Sam glanced at Jo. “Can’t the stuff be faked?”
“It can’t. This is on YouTube. This isn’t on a private server. You can’t mess with these dates. Double-check if you don’t believe me,” Peter said.
“I’ll have Reese check that.” Jo pulled out her phone to text Reese.
Sam backed away. Did Peter really have an alibi? This must have been the proof Sally was starting to talk about at the police station when Jackson Pressler had interrupted them. But then who was the killer? Someone else that they’d already talked to and ruled out? Someone who faked an alibi or ...
Sam caught a movement at the edge of the woods.
Peter snapped his laptop shut and spun around. Lucy knocked over the trash, eggshells spilling out onto the ground.
Dennis had arrived at the camp site. His face twisted in a scowl as he stomped toward the eggshells, not even glancing in their direction. “How many times do I have to tell you people? This trash needs to be picked up. We can’t have trash lying around. Doesn’t look good for my business,” Dennis ranted.
The laptop stashed in the tent, Peter stood with his hands in pockets. “Dude, come on, they’re biodegradable. They’re eggshells.”
“I don’t care. They’re trash, and we can’t leave any trash around.” Dennis jerked to a stop, apparently just noticing Sam and Jo.
Sam’s eyes flicked to the eggshells, something clicking in his brain. A vision of Ray Ingalls’ body, the egg crusted on his face. At the murder scene, there had been egg but no eggshells. He’d thought the shells were taken because the killer didn’t want them to find fingerprints.
Suddenly he realized he’d made a huge mistake. He took a step toward Dennis. “Where did you just come from?”
Dennis looked at him. Their eyes locked. Dennis’ were filled with guilt.
Dennis turned and ran.
Lucy chased after him, Sam and Jo in pursuit behind her. Sam had a feeling of déjà vu as he watched Lucy leap through the air to tackle Dennis in almost the exact same place she had before.
He fell with a loud “Ooomph.”
Sam looked down at him. Lucy glanced up as if to ask if she’d done a good job.
“Good job. You can let go.”
Lucy let go and sat back on her haunches while Sam hauled Dennis to his feet.
“This is harassment. I want a lawyer.” Dennis brushed leaves and pine needles from his clothes.
“You ran from the law. Besides, I already told you, it’s not harassment when you’re guilty.”
Sam had made a mistake in letting Dennis go when he confessed to painting the graffiti. He should have paid more attention to his inner instincts. All the clues had pointed to Dennis, but when he’d confessed to the graffiti Sam had thought his apparent guilt was because of that. Sure, he was guilty of that crime, too, but that wasn’t the worst thing Dennis had done while in town.
Lucy whined, and Sam looked down to see her scratching in the dirt, her paws raking a row of furrows in the pine needles. Something caught the light and shimmered gold. Sam bent down and picked it up. A key.
He straightened and held it in front of Dennis. “Looks like you might have lost something.”
Dennis’ eyes widened. He looked away. “That’s not mine.”
“Really? This looks like the key to Ray’s cabin at the Balsams. Now why would you have that?”
“I didn’t. It must have been there on the ground already.” Dennis still didn’t look at him.
“Uh-huh.” Easy enough to tell if it fit the lock of the cabin, and if Sam were a betting man, he’d bet it did. He’d also bet it just now fell out of Dennis’ pocket.
Dennis jerked his arm away. “I’ve had enough of you. You don’t have any evidence to detain me like this.”
“We do, and we plan to bring you downtown.” Jo pulled the flexi cuffs from her belt and dangled them in front of Dennis’ face. “Now, I can use these on you or you can come in easy.”
Dennis looked at her for a moment, then his eyes slid away.
“I’ll come in easy,” he said. “But I’m not saying another word until I get a lawyer.”
“Fine.” Sam grabbed his elbow and jerked him toward the Tahoe.
Jo’s phone pinged, signaling a text. She pulled it from her back pocket, glanced at it and smiled. She turned to Dennis.
&nb
sp; “Looks like you’re going to need that lawyer. They lifted some fingerprints from the sculpture that was ransacked at Jackson Pressler’s, and they don’t belong to Jackson. My bet is they belong to you.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dennis was silent on the trip back to the station. Let him get his lawyer, Sam thought. He was certain that Dennis was the killer, and he had a good idea how to prove it. The eggshells cinched it. With Dennis’ compulsive behavior when it came to trash, he would have never left eggshells sitting beside Ray’s body. Even Dupont had mentioned that he’d picked up the shells after egging him. And because the two of them went way back, it wasn’t a stretch that Ray might know something Dennis didn’t want made public. Especially if it was something that he didn’t want the investors in his new company to learn.
Sam pulled up in front of the station, wondering how he could wrangle a confession out of Dennis. He opened the door and grabbed Dennis by the arm in case he got ideas about running.
Lucy bounded out of the Tahoe, but instead of heading straight into the station, she careened around the side of the building.
“Woof!”
What the heck? Sam glanced at Jo, and the two of them craned their necks to see Harley Dupont standing in the shadows of the building, looking at them. He jerked his head to indicate he wanted Sam to come to him.
Sam handed Dennis to Jo. “Can you handle him?”
“Of course. Be my pleasure.” Jo yanked Dennis roughly toward the station, and he stumbled and cursed under his breath. Sam smiled.
Dupont petted Lucy, her tail wagging furiously as she looked up at the corrupt mayor happily. Maybe they were being too soft on Lucy. Feeding her too many treats or letting her sleep too much in that soft dog bed. She was losing her edge. She’d been such a good judge of character, but now she was treating Dupont like an old friend.
“Where have you been?” Dupont glanced around.
“Catching a criminal,” Sam said. “Do you need something?”
