Pushed Too Far

by Ann Voss Peterson

  Val brewed another pot of coffee and took yet another look over files that she’d memorized the first time, searching for answers she knew weren’t there. Thoughts of her conversation with David Lund flitted around the corners of her mind.

  He’d been defensive when she first approached him, much like he’d been the first time he’d topped her suspect list. But while they talked, she’d sensed a change. A cautious opening she hadn’t expected, a willingness to help.

  She’d sent Pete to his house to dust for prints and take a look around. Reportedly Lund had cooperated, although the search had turned up no prints beyond his own and nothing suspicious in the house.

  She had to admit, she was relieved.

  Val liked to tell herself that she felt sorry for the guy, for the hell she’d put him through in the investigation of Kelly’s first death. But that wasn’t all of what she felt for David Lund. The rest, she couldn’t let herself think about.

  Today, he’d tried to make her back off with his reference to watching the Playboy Channel, but she figured that alibi was probably true. Lake Loyal was a small town. If he’d gone on a date since Kelly’s death, she probably would have heard about it.

  She had to wonder if he was aware of her lack of dating, too.

  Stupid.

  She shook her head, trying to banish those thoughts. She had a homicide to deal with, maybe two. She had a niece and four horses to provide for and Christmas coming up fast. Not to mention her other problems.

  But among all these concerns, only one had a window that would slam shut in less than forty-eight hours.

  She opened a file holding crime scene photos and scanned them one by one. Pictures of charred bone, the rusty old barrel normally used to burn garbage, the dairy farm just down the road from Val’s little horse stable.

  She flipped to the images of the house where Kelly Lund had grown up. The two-story white clapboard structure was normal enough for this area. Only the locks on the outsides of the bedroom doors and the rings embedded in basement concrete suggested Kelly’s upbringing was a bit different from most farm girls.

  When her eyes finally refused to stay open, she folded her arms on the table top and laid her head down as she’d done more than once while working an urgent case.

  Though none had been as urgent as this.

  Dawn came early and without her getting more than two hours sleep. Her hand was worse, her fingers difficult to move as well as numb, the weakness stealing up her arm. To improve, she needed rest and time and luck, all of which were out of her grasp at the moment.

  Soft nickers greeted her when she opened the barn door. Breathing in the scents of wood shavings, hay and the warm smell of horse, she doled out scoops of rolled oats and flakes of alfalfa, then leaned against a stall wall for a moment and listened to the rhythmic grinding of equine teeth.

  Her life had changed when she’d taken on Grace and her horses, but it wasn’t a change she’d ever regretted. Even now, as lonely as she occasionally felt, she knew she could always get strength from her niece, these beautiful animals, and the job.

  The three things that made her who she was.

  She reached through the stall bars and scratched the forehead of a mare named Bo, then closed up the barn, drove to the cemetery in darkness and watched the sun rise while the backhoe operator got his machine into position.

  Shadows stretched from gravestones, darkening the light blanket of snow. Her breath fogged in the air. The backhoe bit into the ground, straining to break through frost that had claimed the sod and first few inches of soil.

  It was taking too long.

  Everything was taking too long.

  She shrugged her wool coat tighter around her neck and looked out past the growling machine. Sunrise Ridge cemetery was perched on the slope of one of the bluffs overlooking Lake Loyal, and from here she could see the pink light of dawn glowing off the partially frozen water and snow-dusted town huddled on its banks.

  When she’d first gotten the job here, she’d thought the place charming, if a little backward at times. Since then it had grown to be her home, the residents practical and predictable and friendly more often than not. Just what she’d been looking for when she’d moved north after her sister had died from cancer.

  A place that would be safe for raising Melissa’s daughter.

  And as she stared down at the square little buildings lining Walnut Street, all decked out in wreaths and bows and looking like a painting of the good old days, she couldn’t dismiss the feeling that everything she loved about this town was about to be ripped apart unless she could find a way to stop it.

  The scrape of steel on concrete brought her attention back to the grave.

  Most people are familiar with the idea that bodies are buried at least six feet under, yet that measurement didn’t account for the concrete vault surrounding the casket. The lid of that vault was only a couple of feet below the sod, and after a couple of scrapes with the backhoe and a few more with shovels, the men were ready to lift the vault’s lid.

  A car door slammed.

  She spun around to see Jeffrey Schneider winding toward her through the headstones, frost-stiffened grass and patches of snow crackling under his shoes. Close to seventy, the retired chief of police was still a fit and good-looking man. His hair was a lot more salt than pepper, but he had a sparkle in his hazel eyes when he was happy and enough energy to put younger men to shame.

  “Jeff. Am I glad to see you.” She wasn’t sure what that said about her ability to lead the department on her own, but it was the truth.

  “You should have called me.”

  She should have known that would be the first thing he fired her way. “I assume you’ve talked to Olson.”

  “He was concerned.”

  “He told you about his suggestion?”

  “He was just trying to protect you.”

  “Protect me?” She could buy that Olson wanted to protect the people of Lake Loyal, wanting to protect her was a stretch.

  He let out a long sigh, as if what came next was going to hurt him. “You’ve got to know as soon as Hess’s attorney files her motion, someone from her firm will start working on a lawsuit. There’s going to be an investigation, into the case, into you.”

  Even though she was trying not to contemplate that far ahead, she knew he was right. No doubt raptors of all kinds were already starting to circle. And the fact that she was Lake Loyal’s first female police chief only made her easier prey. “Politics happen, Jeff. I can’t think about that now.”

  His face reddened and he shook his head as if disgusted with her. “You can’t ignore it either. You’ve got to play your hand close to the vest.”

  “I’m not going to say a word about Olson’s suggestion, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then what?”

  He shifted his gaze away, watching as the casket rose from the vault. “I heard David Lund was the one to drag in the body.”

  “Olson told you that, too?”

  He shook his head. “Oneida.”

  That sounded about right. Oneida Perkins was a great dispatcher and office manager, but she was yet another one who believed Schneider was still chief.

  “Are you looking at him again?”

  “Of course.”

  He gave her a hard look, as if sensing her hesitation. “He was here two years ago. He’s here now. Seems like a good bet.”

  She didn’t want to talk about it. She was the chief of police now, not Schneider, a fact he seemed to forget as easily as the rest of the town.

  “Did Harlan confirm the body is Kelly?”

  She nodded. “I talked to him last night. Fingerprints matched.”

  “Do you have a time of death?”

  “Her body is partially frozen, so Harlan hasn’t been able to complete the autopsy. But we know she wasn’t spotted during the midnight patrol, and she was discovered at the two p.m. patrol.”

  “So all
you know for certain is that she entered the lake sometime between afternoon patrols.”

  “Right. We’re canvassing for people who might have walked through the park during the day, but she wasn’t visible from the playground, so I’m not hopeful.”

  “Does David Lund have an alibi for those twenty-four hours?”

  She blew out a breath of frustration. “Not for the entire time, no.”

  “There you go. You have your vic and you have your killer.”

  It wasn’t quite that simple, but since her former chief probably wouldn’t appreciate her pointing that out, she changed the subject. “I still have to figure out who this is.” She nodded toward the grave.

  “Oh, I might be able to help there.”

  “How?”

  “I’ve lived here all my life. I know a lot of people, and I was once married to one of Kelly’s aunts.”

  Now that he mentioned it, she did remember he had a tie to the family. Of course, once they’d determined Kelly was the only female still alive, it hadn’t mattered. They’d believed they’d identified their victim.

  Now she’d like to know more. “What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “We turned twenty-five, and the magic was gone.”

  “Twenty-five, huh?”

  “About a year after I became a cop.”

  The stories of cops getting divorced over the demands of the job were so common, she didn’t need to ask details. She’d been engaged, but never actually reached the altar, though her romance had dissolved for a much different reason.

  She rubbed the fingers of her right hand with her left. The numbness had reached her wrist now, and although she could still move her fingers, it was growing more and more difficult. She could only hope the problem stopped there.

  “So which of Kelly’s aunts did you marry?”

  “Elizabeth.”

  Val called up the name on her mental list. “Died in a car wreck, right?”

  “That was years after our divorce. Kelly’s mother told me the news. I haven’t kept in touch with the family, but I remember some of them. I can call around, see what I find.”

  She felt like an idiot.

  She was being too sensitive to Olson’s deference to the chief. Oneida’s, too. With only forty-eight hours, she didn’t have time for ego. She couldn’t allow hers to get in the way. “I appreciate the help, Jeff.”

  “Happy to give it. To tell the truth, I’m a little sick of retirement. Never thought playing cards would get old, but I guess you live and learn.” He reached out a hand and patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”

  She had to smile at the we. They only needed Olson here, and it would be just like old times. “I hope you’re right.”

  “Me, too.” His smile faded before hers. “If we don’t come up with anything, and Dixon Hess gets out …” He shook his head. “After seeing what he did to that girl in Nebraska, I doubt a lawsuit will be enough to satisfy him.”

  Chapter

  Five

  By the time Val reached the morgue, the numbness in her hand had inched to her elbow, and the sun was already in the western sky. She was late, she was cold, and she was teetering closer and closer to the edge of desperation.

  Monica Forbes stood beside the ridiculous old hearse Harlan had bought from a local funeral home for his personal vehicle, her arms wrapped around herself as tightly as the scarf wrapped around her head.

  Slipping into an empty space, Val unlocked the passenger door for the assistant district attorney.

  Monica slipped into the seat, closed the door, and shivered. “I know this is going to feel warm by the time we get to January, but I’m freezing.”

  “You should have waited inside.”

  “Can’t stand the smell. Besides, I wanted a chance to talk to you … unfortunately not about the sex I had last night. Have you ever used a rabbit vibrator?”

  Monica had been discovering the overabundant joys of sex since she’d met a man three months ago, a guy she was now engaged to marry. Val used to tease her about it, at first, now Monica tried to beat her to the punch and brought up some new experience every time they talked. “What happened?”

  “Well, it’s ribbed and—”

  “With the case, Monica.”

  She shot Val a fleeting grin, then became dead serious. “Tamara Wade filed a habeas corpus motion on Hess’s behalf at three o’clock yesterday.”

  “That’s less than an hour after we found the body.”

  “Makes you wonder, right? I mean, did she have a draft ready to go? Was she just waiting for Kelly Lund’s body to be pulled from the lake? Maybe you should find out if she has an alibi.” Monica arched an over-plucked eyebrow.

  Of course, they didn’t yet know if Kelly’s death was homicide. It could always be suicide or even a drunken accident. At least she could hope.

  The thought of having two murder investigations on her hands made Val’s head spin. It wasn’t that she doubted her department. Lake Loyal had a damn good PD, and she’d worked her ass off to make sure it had only gotten better in the past six months. But Lake Loyal was a small town. Her department was set up to enforce traffic laws, defuse domestics and crack down on drunk drivers, not investigate multiple homicides.

  Val didn’t have a clue how she was going to come up with the manpower. She’d have to go to the county for help.

  “You have Jane Doe?” Monica glanced into the back seat, the slight flinch on her face suggesting she was hoping not to see the bones loose on the back seat.

  “She’s already in the morgue.”

  “Then I’m sure Harlan has identified her and we can just wrap this up.” Monica shot her a grin. “I’m an optimist.”

  “At least one of us is.”

  The sunny expression slipped from Monica’s face. “I also wanted to warn you that I’ve heard rumblings.”

  “Let me guess. Lawsuit? Investigation?”

  “Everyone expects Hess to sue. There’s a cap as to what he can get from the state, but I don’t think anyone’s worried about the money. Not really.”

  “They want someone to blame.”

  “And you and I are in their crosshairs.”

  Val thought of Chief Schneider’s warning. That’s what it came down to. Make sure Hess stayed in prison or prepare for the avalanche of blame that would bury not only her, but Monica, too.

  Not to mention what Hess would do once he was free.

  “Let’s see what Harlan can tell us,” Val said.

  In her career as a cop, Val had spent more time in a morgue than she’d ever dreamed possible, and yet she still felt that cold shiver as soon as she stepped foot inside.

  Monica was right. It was the smell.

  There weren’t many bodies in and out of the little county morgue, not like the endless parade in Chicago, but the place still held that fleshy, slightly sweet odor that no disinfectant or air freshener could mask.

  Once she’d made the mistake of wearing her street clothes to the autopsy of a man whose body had been found by a deer hunter in the forest preserve. She’d never liked the outfit much, so it wasn’t a big loss, but her date she’d met for dinner after hadn’t been amused.

  Come to think of it, he wasn’t much of a loss either.

  Today was different though. In addition to that dead smell, there was another she knew equally well. The scent of burned bone had hung in her hair and coated her skin for weeks leading up to Dixon Hess’s arrest.

  Monica hovering in the hall behind her, Val stepped around the scale built into the floor for weighing bodies at check in and ducked her head into the small evidence room off to the right. “Hello?”

  “In here, sweet knees.” A gruff voice said from down the hall.

  Harlan Runk was one of the most grizzled old coots Val had run across in Wisconsin, and that was saying something. Even the times she’d seen him in court dressed in suit and tie, he still managed to look like he’d just come in from an extended
fishing trip or deer hunting excursion with the boys. His gray hair was rumpled, a two-day shadow of salt-and-pepper stubble covered scarred cheeks. Even his eyebrows resembled a backwoods thicket.

  But despite his appearance and propensity for using nicknames and veiled come-ons that would set even an anti-feminist’s teeth on edge, he’d always been competent and eager to help in any way he could.

  With Val, that counted for a lot.

  She found him in the autopsy room, hunched over a to-go container, eating what looked like spaghetti in a lumpy tomato sauce or … something.

  He glanced up, a splotch of red dotting his silver stubbled chin. “Decided to go ahead and eat. Thought you were going to be here before lunch.”

  “Sorry. I was held up.”

  He squinted past her, spotting Monica. “And how do, counselor? Haven’t seen you down here very often.”

  “Hello, Mr. Runk.”

  “So formal? Even when I’m not in the witness box?”

  “I like to keep things professional.”

  Val stifled a smile. Obviously Monica didn’t quite know how to deal with Harlan. Not surprising. Most women teetered on the edge between squicked out and patronizing.

  He focused on her, tilting his head to one side like a dog trying to make sense of human language. “I heard you’re being investigated.”

  “Not yet, Harlan. Not yet.”

  “Not fair, you ask me. That Jane Doe sure didn’t hack herself to pieces, jump in that barrel, douse herself with gasoline, and light the match.”

  Val eyed the collection of charred bones already laid out on the stainless steel gurney. “Have you had a chance to examine her?”

  “Little bit. Not sure what you think we’re going to find that we didn’t before.”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t either. But I live in hope.”

  Monica the optimist gave a supportive nod.

  He shoveled a few more bites into his mouth, leaving his lips tinged red with sauce, then tossed the Styrofoam in the trash and sidled up to the gurney of bones. With gloved hands, he picked up each, in turn, making grunting sounds in the back of his throat.