by L A Dobbs
Jo squatted next to John. "That's a .38. Where did the bullet go in?”
"Hard to tell with this bird damage." John squinted up at the vultures. Most had flown off, but a few sat high in the trees, watching. "I don't see any gunshot on the torso, so my guess is the head, but exactly where, I couldn't tell you right now. Maybe not ever with what the birds have done."
"Let's not touch anything more until Kevin comes with the camera. I want a record of how the gun is positioned," Sam said.
John nodded and rolled the body back. "It was partially under his hip. See, the position of his hand right next to the hip hid it at first."
Jo narrowed her eyes at the hand. "You think he could have shot himself?"
"Either that, or the killer stuck the gun under him after he shot him."
Jo looked at the gun again then walked over to the porch and looked back, tilting her head to the right and squinting her eyes. "I suppose it's possible he shot himself on the porch there, then as he fell off, the gun fell under him. Hard to say for sure. We might need to do some tests."
Tires crunched on dirt, and they turned to see Kevin pull up in the department Crown Victoria. The Crown Vic was the other car in their two-car stable. Both had been painted dark blue and had the white lettering and police department insignia. Having only two cars could be inconvenient at times, but none of them minded driving their personal cars if they needed to.
Kevin got out with the camera and came to stand beside them. Lucy sniffed his pants and looked up at him until he took a treat out of his pocket and threw it to her. She caught it in midair.
"What happened to him?" Kevin thrust his chin toward the body.
"Not sure yet. Take photos all around the body. Check the grass for clues and casings. Make sure you get photos of the body as it is, and have John roll it so you can get the position of the gun before you bag it up. And snap the outside of the cabin." Sam walked onto the porch as Kevin started taking pictures of the body.
"What are you looking for?" Jo asked.
"Up here, folks look out for one another. There's a tight network of people that own these camps. Most are from down south, but some, like the Donnellys, live around town and have the camp for weekends. Since most people are from 'away,' neighbors check on each other's camps, so there's usually a sign-in board." Sam pointed to a small chalkboard that hung beside the door. A white piece of chalk duct-taped to a string hung from the side. "Kind of like an old-fashioned calling card."
Jo noticed the board was blank. "No one came to visit."
"No one that wanted their visit recorded, at least."
"Shit. I guess we'll have to go talk to Margie Donnelly," Jo said. She knew how Sam hated these notifications. She didn't like them much herself, but she'd been hardened to the news after what had happened in her own family. Though Sam seemed tough on the outside, she knew telling people about a dead family member affected him. She liked to think that her standing beside him when they had to tell a family one of their members would never return home helped a little.
"I mean, assuming this is Mike and someone didn't mess with his wallet. Either way, we can find out if Mike is missing and if there's been any trouble lately. We can't ask the family to make an identification on that." Jo pointed to the body.
"Nope. We'll use dental records. Maybe he can find a fingerprint."
Jo looked at the hands. They were pretty messy. She looked at her watch and lowered her voice. "We have a little over an hour before we're supposed to see Irma Richardson." The name of Jo's former coworker made her gut tighten. She'd liked Tyler, and even though he was ten years younger than her, they'd clicked at work. He was a good cop and a good person--that wasn't something Jo could say about a lot of people.
"Right. Let's go talk to Margie." Sam's jaw tightened. "That's the hardest part, telling the family. Sometimes they take it real bad."
Jo pushed her sunglasses up on her nose and whistled for Lucy, who was busy sniffing the tire tracks in the driveway. "They sure do, unless one of them is the killer."
Chapter Three
Kevin watched Sam and Jo drive off in the Tahoe. So they were going to visit Tyler's mom? Sam's voice had been low like he was saying something he didn’t want Kevin to overhear. Why were they being so secretive about it?
Maybe he was making something out of nothing, but it rubbed him the wrong way that he was often left out of whatever Sam and Jo were doing. Maybe their visit to Tyler's mom was just a social call, but Kevin had to wonder, especially considering the odd circumstances surrounding Tyler's death.
As a part-time officer, Kevin hadn't worked with Tyler as much as Jo or Sam had. He really didn't work much with any of them. The three of them had been full-timers and had seniority over Kevin, so they'd worked investigations together while Kevin was sent on the crap jobs.
Now that Tyler was gone, he was getting better jobs, and Sam had even offered him the full-time gig, but Kevin didn't want that job. He didn't need the money, not with the lucrative little side job he had going.
Thoughts about the side job sent a wave of unease through him. He still wasn't sure if what he was doing was the right thing. But it paid well, so he pushed those aside and focused on taking pictures. Bile rose in his throat as he snapped every inch of the mutilated body. He could practically feel the vultures' eyes drilling into his back as they watched him from the trees, waiting for him to be done so they could continue their meal.
He repositioned himself, lying in the grass to take pictures of the body from a low angle. The cool grass pressed against his cheek as he focused on the copper stain under the victim's head.
As the job of picture taking became mechanical, he started to regret his distrustful feelings about Sam and Jo. They had been making an effort to include him. Was he being overly sensitive? His father had always said that he acted too hastily, and now he was trying to make a concerted effort to think things through before reacting. It was probably just an innocent visit and they hadn't thought to include Kevin because Kevin had already been to Tyler's mom's house when he dropped off Tyler's things from the office.
He'd been surprised that Tyler's mom didn't live in a big place. He knew Tyler had moved in, and he thought maybe they could've afforded something better. Kevin's own house was modest but updated with all the latest accoutrements. The updates were because of the side job, not his police salary, though, and Tyler had the added medical expenses of his sister's muscular disease. But still, he couldn't imagine living in that one small bedroom. What Tyler had sacrificed for his sister had given Kevin a newfound respect for the officer. Too bad it was too late to tell him.
Done with photographing the body, he stood up and scanned the grass for any bullet casings, footprints, or anything that might be a clue. He wanted to do a good job to find a clue that Sam could use to solve this case. He glanced back at the body, which the EMTs were now loading onto a stretcher, then went back to bag the gun as evidence. Had the man shot himself? It seemed likely. With the body gone, he could do a better search of the area. He meticulously combed every inch, carefully taking photographs of the grass, especially the indented areas where the body had lain. He snapped shots of the position where the body had been in relation to the house and the woods, making sure he photographed everything just the way Sam would want.
As he worked, Kevin's thoughts turned to Tyler again. What if Sam and Jo were after something more than just a sympathy call? What if they were looking for the same things that Kevin's contact had asked him to search for?
Kevin had brought Tyler's personal things from the squad room to the house Tyler occupied with his family. He'd gotten lucky on that because it allowed him to search through the boxes without anyone getting suspicious. He hadn't found anything, though, except the thumb drive.
Too bad the thumb drive was blank. But he'd kept it anyway, just in case.
In case of what? His contact had been vague about what, specifically, they were looking for, and it didn't quite sit right wit
h him. Kevin was even starting to question exactly who the contact worked for. At first he'd thought it was the FBI looking into suspicious activity they'd found on Jo and Sam. But now he was beginning to wonder. Did the FBI have that kind of money to pay out?
But if Sam and Jo weren't up to something, why were they still investigating Tyler's death? He knew they weren't supposed to be. A separate task force had investigated it, saying their department was too close to the victim to investigate. He knew the investigators had ruled it as a random and unfortunate killing. But Sam and Jo didn't seem to agree. Which made Kevin wonder if the people that were paying him for this so-called information were right about Sam and Jo. If they were corrupt, why would they be sticking their necks out to make sure Tyler got justice?
Now that Kevin had worked with them more closely, he could see no indication that Sam and Jo were corrupt. In fact, they seemed to be good people. Honest people. People who wanted to make sure the law was followed and justice was done.
Then again, they did push the envelope when it came to procedure a little bit. He knew for a fact that Sam had looked the other way when Reese had done some things for them that were outside department protocol, and Jo had filled in Tyler's empty log from the that night he'd been shot. She'd claimed it was so that Tyler wouldn't have a blemish on his record, but what if there was another reason?
He proceeded up onto the porch with the camera, taking pictures of the door, the snowshoes tacked up in an X on the wall, the old porch rockers with their chipped green paint, and the old-fashioned bicycles that leaned against the side of the cabin. He wondered, if Sam and Jo weren't the bad guys, then that meant the people that were paying him were the bad guys, and that made him wonder just exactly whose side he was on.
Chapter Four
Mike and Margie Donnelly lived on the north end of town in a big, sprawling fifty-acre farm that the Donnelly family had owned for four generations. Now that Mike and Margie were getting close to seventy, they didn't farm the land as much. Like many children of the old families, their two kids were now in their thirties and didn't have an interest in farming. As was the way with too many farms, the average used for crops had shrunk to one small patch near the house.
On the way out, Sam and Jo passed by a new hotel that was part of the resort that Lucas Thorne was building. Jo turned her head to look at it as they drove past. Sam didn't want to look. Seeing the concrete and steel where there should be trees and grass made him angry. Even Lucy was upset. She stared out the side window and let out a high-pitched whine.
"The Donnelly farm abuts this land, doesn't it?" Jo asked, her head still turned to look out the window at the passing construction sites.
"Yep."
"Huh."
Jo didn't say any more, but Sam knew what she was thinking. The same thing he was. It was no secret that Lucas Thorne was after the Donnelly farm. He'd been after folks to sell their land in this area for quite some time. Sam suspected that sometimes he did something a little more forceful than just make an offer for the property.
Both Sam and Jo hated the way the town was being built up. Hotels, golf courses, restaurants. The company Thorne worked for wanted to turn White Rock into a vacation mecca with a big resort. The beautiful scenery was second to none, and there were activities to bring tourists in every season.
Sam wanted the land to remain unspoiled, but right now things were working against him, not the least of which was the town mayor, Harley Dupont, who seemed to be influencing the rezoning of the town so that Thorne could build wherever he wanted.
The Donnelly farm was a typical two-story farmhouse. A porch ran along the front and on one side. A big red barn sat next to it at the end of the driveway. It could've used a new paint job. The barn didn't have any animals in it anymore. The fields, which should have been sprouting with new crops, were filled with weeds. A pang of sadness flared in Sam. It seemed that many of the old farms were going to ruin--or worse, being bought by Thorne.
They knocked on the door and waited for Margie to answer. Sam's stomach sank lower and lower, as it always did when he had to give this kind of bad news.
The door creaked open, and a small woman looked out quizzically, her eyes widening as she took in the police logo on Jo's cap. The woman wore a loose-fitting shirt and sweatpants and looked incredibly pale and fragile. Her silver hair was cut close to the scalp.
"Can I help you?" Her voice held a fearful note.
Sam didn't know Margie Donnelly personally, but he figured this was her. "Mrs. Donnelly?"
She nodded. "Yes. I'm Margie Donnelly."
"Sam Mason. Chief of police in White Rock."
"I know who you are." She opened the door wider and indicated for them to come in. "Is somebody in trouble?"
It was neat and clean inside. The furnishings looked as if they'd been handed down through the generations, which they probably had. Margie walked unsteadily, leading them past the living room into the dining area, the wide pine floorboards creaking under their feet.
She indicated for them to sit at the mahogany dining table. The room was decorated with family pictures and old cross-stitches. There was a china cabinet in the corner filled with flow blue china. Sam recognized it because his grandmother had had the same china, and it was now sitting in a china cabinet inside the hunting cabin Sam had inherited from his grandfather and now called home. He noticed a few empty spots in the china cabinet. Did Margie use the china for everyday use? His grandmother never had. She'd said it was quite valuable.
Sam remained standing. It didn't feel right giving this sort of news while seated. "I'm afraid there's been an accident. At your hunting camp."
Margie sucked in a breath and grabbed the back of the nearest chair. "Is it Mike?"
"We think so, ma'am. You don't know where he is?"
Margie sank into the chair, her hands over her face, her shoulders shaking. Jo came to stand beside her, putting a consoling hand on the woman's shoulder.
Sam went into the adjoining kitchen and filled the stainless-steel teapot then turned on one of the gas burners while Margie composed herself.
"I was afraid something happened," Margie said after a while. "He went out to the hunting camp last night. He's been going there more and more by himself. He's been very depressed." Margie's eyes flicked to a bowl on the table, and Sam noticed several blue prescription-drug bottles inside.
"Was Mike ill?" Sam asked.
Margie shook her head. "Not Mike. Me. Cancer. I don't have long. Chemo helped for a little while, but now..." She shrugged and touched her short-cropped hair. Sam realized it was growing out from the chemo. "Anyway, the medicines help a little. But Mike knew there wouldn't be a lot of time. I was afraid he might do something..."
"Are you saying that you think he killed himself?" Sam asked.
"He said he wouldn't be able to live without me. I told him he'd be fine." Margie burst into tears again, and Sam waited while Jo poured the steaming water into a cup that had a little teabag nestled inside. She gently placed a cup in front of Margie, who took it in her frail hands and sipped.
"So he went there last night. And he was supposed to be back but never came back?" Sam asked.
"That's right. I wasn't sure if he came back and then left early in the morning. Sometimes I don't always know. You see, the pills knock me out. I have a high dosage for the pain. I was getting worried, though, but thought maybe he'd been home and I didn't notice. Things get a little foggy..."
"I see." Sympathy flooded through Sam, and he spoke gently. "Do you own a .38 revolver by any chance?"
"Sure. Mike has one. It's in a lockbox on the top of the gun cabinet over there." Margie pointed to a scrolled oak gun cabinet, an antique piece that would've made Sam's grandfather envious. It was made of solid quarter-sawn oak and had etchings of elk and moose at the top. Six shotguns rested inside. Some of them were also antique.
Jo went over to the cabinet. She was fairly tall and only had to reach her hand up to run it along the
top of the cabinet. She pulled down a slate-gray box and brought it over.
"Who knows the combination?" Sam asked.
"Just me and Mike. And the kids, of course." Margie pushed the buttons and flipped the lid open.
The box was empty.
Chapter Five
"If he didn't leave a suicide note at the house, maybe he left one at the cabin," Jo suggested as they drove away from the Donnelly farmhouse. Margie had searched the usual places, but no note had been found. Jo looked out the window at the ugly resort looming in the distance. "I wonder if Margie will sell the land to Thorne now."
"Or the kids will. Sounds like Margie won't be around long enough," Sam said.
"Yeah. Sad, huh?" Jo took out her phone and thumbed something in. "Making a note to run down the serial number and make sure the gun we found is his."
"It's just about time to go to the Richardsons'. Let's swing by there and then go back to the cabin to look for a note," Sam suggested.
"As long as one of those trips takes us by Brewed Awakening. I need a coffee."
"You betcha."
Fifteen minutes later, they were pulling into the Pine Boughs mobile home park where Irma Richardson lived. Jo had a bag of jelly donuts in her lap and a Styrofoam coffee mug in her hand. Lucy was eyeing the bag hopefully.
The mobile home park was one of several in the area and probably the nicest one. Each trailer was well kept, with a nice grassy yard and a tidy tool shed in back. Picket fences, window boxes, and flowers decorated the neighborhood.
The Richardsons had a double-wide, and Sam parked in the driveway. The two of them got out, giving Lucy the command to stay in the car. They left the windows rolled halfway, and Jo shoved the donuts in the glove compartment just in case Lucy got adventurous.
Irma was happy to see them. Her eyes seemed a little less sad than they had at Tyler's funeral. The house was as neat as a pin. Irma had laid out cookies on a plate and had coffee and dainty porcelain teacups dotted with tiny blue flowers waiting for them. Sam's large hands made the teacups look like miniatures as they sat politely at the table making small talk.
