Terry Odell - Mapleton 02 - Deadly Bones

by Terry Odell

  “I’ll help.” Gordon collected the rest of the dishes and carried them to the kitchen. Angie stood at the sink, rinsing the dishes before loading them into the dishwasher. He set his on the counter and leaned toward her. Close enough so she could hear his whisper, but not close enough to start another round of matchmaking. “You could have warned me.”

  She turned and grinned. “Now what fun would that have been?”

  Chapter 20

  After dropping Angie off, Gordon stopped by his office and copied the list of names from his notebook to a legal tablet. Then he opened a new document in his word processor and jotted bullet points for what he’d say when he addressed the officers at shift change. Appearing at briefings wasn’t the norm, and he went over what he wanted to say so it wouldn’t sound preachy, pedantic, or like he was undermining the duty officers in charge. When he was a “normal” cop, things were usually black or white. A few shades of gray, but nothing like the constant balancing act being Chief required.

  Could be worse, he told himself. Instead of his staff, he could be facing the media.

  He read over his notes one more time, switching the order of a couple bullet points, and printed it. He thought about the sport coat he kept in his office closet, along with his uniform, but decided either would be too formal. This was a friendly reminder. He took the page from the printer, read it once more, then folded it and put it in his pocket. Knowing it was there should be good enough.

  Nervous about addressing your own staff? You’re pathetic.

  As he headed for the briefing room, he realized he wasn’t afraid of addressing his officers. It was addressing them in such a way as to avoid all mention of politics that made Willa’s peach pie sit like dead weight in his belly.

  He entered the room a few minutes early. Officers milled about, drinking coffee, exchanging the usual bullshit he used to be a part of. He shouldn’t feel like an outsider in his own department. Although he still pitched in with routine work when it was called for, a line had been drawn. He couldn’t be one of the guys and be the Chief. Trying for a neutral-friendly expression, if such a thing existed, he strolled to the front of the room.

  “Chief?” Todd Gaubatz, the duty officer, looked up from a stack of papers on the lectern.

  “Evening. I’d like a couple of minutes if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not. The floor is yours whenever you want it.”

  Gordon leaned against the wall behind the lectern, wishing he had a cup of coffee. Anything to keep his hands occupied. Maybe make him feel like he fit in. “As soon as everyone’s assembled, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “Five minutes,” Todd said.

  No reason for him to stand here feeling like he was on display. “I’ll be back.” Gordon heard the hush follow him as he walked out of the room. He ambled to the break room and poured a cup of coffee. He fumbled his notes out of his pocket, read them one more time, then shoved them back in. Like it or not, this came with the job. He ignored the clenching in his gut, straightened his spine, and marched to the briefing room.

  He timed his entrance to coincide with the duty officer calling everyone to attention. He lingered at the back of the room, listening to roll call and opening remarks. When he was introduced, there was a low murmur, along with a few craned necks as officers turned to watch him make his way to the front of the room. He took one final sip of his coffee, then set the cup on the lectern’s lower shelf.

  “Good evening. First, I’d like to commend everyone for their dedication and service. Most of you were here when we dealt with the murder of Betty Bedford, and I couldn’t have been more proud to be your Chief. That pride still stands.

  “A lot of you are aware that we have what could turn into a high-profile case for Mapleton. In a nutshell, we’ve discovered some bones buried in the woodlands near the home of Rose and Sam Kretzer. They’re definitely human, and have been in the ground for at least thirty years. Maybe longer.” A ripple of agreement and exchanged glances passed through the room. Some nods, but a lot of raised eyebrows, so Gordon filled in the blanks.

  “We’ve found three sites with different skeletal remains that appear to be from a single person. We don’t know how they got there, or who they belong to. If anyone has any recollection of a person gone missing during that timeframe, please leave whatever information you have either directly with me, or in Laurie’s inbox.”

  He paused and leaned forward a few inches. “We’re a small police force. Tomorrow, the county will have a Crime Scene Response team excavating the sites where the bones were discovered. Clearly, this is going to create questions, rumors, and a flock of lookie-loos. I’m asking for everyone’s cooperation in downplaying any sensationalism and quashing any rumors. I promise you will be kept informed. However, I don’t want to see Mapleton on the national news as a hotbed of crime. Or the local news, for that matter. I’m sure it won’t take long for someone to start talking about a mad killer dismembering bodies.”

  More murmurs and exchanged glances.

  “Let’s remember this happened a long time ago, and our job is to let the experts from the county do their work. Our role is to beef up patrol in the area, and to maintain scene integrity tonight until the CSR team gets here tomorrow. Dispatch will assign you on rotating shifts so nobody has to spend the entire night in the woods.

  “A last comment, and I expect full cooperation on this one.” He rested his forearms on the lectern and leaned forward a few more inches. “You all know how prevalent police scanners are these days. I’m sure some of you have them at home, or log onto the web to listen in. I don’t want anything regarding this case on the airwaves. We all get a bit informal from time to time. Let’s keep the chit-chat off the radio. Broadcasts are restricted to your normal, routine duties. If you slip up, Dispatch will give you a friendly reminder. Once. After that, I’m afraid you’ll be talking to me.”

  He retrieved his cup and sipped, mentally going over his bullet points. Summarized the situation. Check. Stressed confidentiality. Check. No mention of the mayor. Check. Made himself the bad guy. Sucked, but check. “Questions?”

  A hand went up. Gordon nodded to the officer.

  “Should we be asking around, see if we can determine who the bones belonged to?”

  He’d expected that one. “No, not while we’re trying to keep a low profile. However, I’m sure that in the course of your routine duties, citizens will ask questions. Your responses should indicate that it’s a county issue, and that there’s no danger. If they volunteer information, yes, you should record it and relay it to the office. But again, not over the radio. You can either write it down and drop it off at the station, or you can use the department tip line, or give that number to the citizen and let them call it in.”

  More nods.

  “And it should go without saying that this is strictly a police matter, but I want to make it clear. No sharing with anyone not on the force, including family members.” Gordon straightened and stepped away from the lectern. “Thank you. I know I can count on all of you, and this will blow over with no adverse repercussions. Mapleton is our town, it’s a safe town, and we do this job because we want to keep it that way.”

  Coffee cup in hand, Gordon strode from the room. Behind him, he heard Todd reciting the number for the tip line.

  In his office, he relaxed into his chair. He didn’t think he’d ever feel comfortable speaking in front of a group, but all in all, he felt satisfied with his performance. A bit stilted, he thought, as he ran through the mental replay of what he’d said, but as Dix had told him so many times, he wasn’t on the job to be their friend. He was on the job to do the job. He was about to throw away his notes when he realized he’d need to do it again for the morning briefing.

  What would happen if he shook things up and held briefings at Finnegan’s? Over beer.

  With a quiet chuckle, he caught up on yet another batch of paperwork before shutting down for the night. He stopped at the front desk to ale
rt the clerk to a likely increase in calls. “If things get crazy, let the duty officer know, and we can get a volunteer to handle the tip line.” He’d never wanted to go the voicemail route—people liked talking to a human—and he wasn’t about to start now. Especially not for a cold case.

  In the parking lot, Titch caught up to him, slightly out of breath. Still standing at attention, Gordon noticed. “Relax, Titch. What can I do for you?”

  “Sir. I didn’t expect to see you. I called it in, but—”

  “Well, as long as you found me, you can tell me firsthand.”

  “Sir. You know how we thought we had three sites?”

  “Yes.” Something in Titch’s tone prickled the hair on Gordon’s neck. “According to Carlos Quintana, had there been more sites, the dog would have alerted. She’s supposed to be the best.”

  “It’s not exactly more,” Titch said. “They’re bigger than we thought. Mr. Asel suggested we expand the holes outward. I mean, it’s not like the dog draws a boundary or anything. So we went out a couple of feet and found more bones.”

  “More, as in a complete skeleton? The pelvis? A skull?” That would speed things up immeasurably.

  “No, Chief. These are from another person.”

  Chapter 21

  Megan scooted her chair closer to Rose’s head. The bleeps were still faster, but they were steady. Maybe she and Rose could give Gordon a useful clue. Or maybe they’d solve the case together. “Who do you think was buried in your yard?”

  Rose tsked again. “Rumors and gossip, that’s all. Lying here, there’s not much to do other than think. But…” Rose closed her eyes and sighed.

  “But what?”

  Rose shook her head, then adjusted the tubes in her nose. “Rumors and gossip.”

  Megan decided to prime the pump. “Well, what’s wrong with a little gossip? As long as we’re not spreading it to hurt people. According to Angie, someone at the diner said Fred Easterbrook was blowing up trees and burying things. We all went up there to see if we could find out anything, but Gordon showed up before we managed to work the conversation around to bones. Angie was snooping around, and she said Fred’s practically got a shrine to his daughter, but not a single picture of his wife. Did you know them?”

  Rose fumbled for the bed controls, and Megan helped her elevate the head of the bed. “Olivia,” Rose said. “His wife. Kept to herself a lot, but I’d see her with her daughter at the playground. Back then, women were expected to raise the children.”

  Rose gazed into space, a wistful expression on her face. Could she possibly regret that Megan hadn’t followed that path?

  “Not you, Meggie.” Rose patted Megan’s hand. “You were always trying new adventures. I was glad when times changed, with less pressure to settle down and raise a family.” She smiled. “Not that I would object, of course. I was lucky, because I had both. I worked in Sam’s bookstore, which was more acceptable, since I was helping my husband, not seeking a career.”

  “What about Olivia?” Megan said, attempting to steer the conversation away from domesticity. “Do you know where she is now?”

  Rose shook her head. “Fred said she went to Georgia. It’s not my place to say, but I never thought she and Fred got along. Their child—I don’t recall her name—was the only thing they had in common. It was quite the scandal at the time, when she took the child and ran. People didn’t do that. But then, they didn’t get divorced at the drop of a hat the way they do now, either.”

  The curtain swished open and a nurse stepped into the cubicle. She looked at the bleep machine, checked the IV, and wrote things on her clipboard. “Visiting hours are over. You can come back tomorrow. Rose should be transferred to a regular room.”

  “That’s fantastic.” Megan kissed Rose on the cheek, avoiding the green tubing. “Sleep well. And we’ll all visit tomorrow. If you remember anything else, we’ll talk then.”

  Megan left the nurse to her duties and almost called Angie until she remembered how early her friend went to bed. Stifling a yawn as she got into her car, she figured tomorrow would be soon enough. Her chat with Rose had given her the confidence she needed to propose her plan to Angie.

  When she got home, Justin and Sam were sitting in the living room, lights dimmed, brandy snifters in hand.

  “Come join us,” Sam said. “Rose is still doing all right?”

  As if she wouldn’t have let him know immediately if she weren’t. “She seems much better, yes. The nurse said she’d be out of ICU tomorrow morning.” Megan went to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a small shot of brandy. Joining Justin on the couch, she sniffed her drink, inhaling its potent aroma. “We were talking about Frank Easterbrook’s wife. Olivia. Do you remember her, Sam?”

  After a thoughtful sip of brandy, Sam frowned. “Nothing specific. I remember the scandal when she left, nothing more.”

  “Rose seemed to think there might be more to it than her simply running off with their daughter.” She recapped what Angie had said about the lack of evidence of the wife, while maintaining a virtual shrine to the daughter. “Of course, Rose never said she thought Fred killed Olivia. We were bouncing around from topic to topic.”

  Sam drained the remains of his brandy. “Fred used to come to the bookstore for hunting magazines. But never did we talk about his wife. He liked to show me pictures of his daughter, though. For the most part, he spoke of his catches, or whatever you call killing an animal. At least he ate the meat. After all, we kill cows to put food on the table, so I can’t condemn a man for doing the same simply because it’s a deer.”

  Megan remembered all the trophies on Fred’s walls. She wondered if he thought of them as meals. Oh, that one was Thanksgiving dinner in ‘seventy-two. She cringed. That was getting too up close and personal with suppertime.

  Sam hoisted himself from his recliner. “The last two days have been tiring. I’m going to bed.”

  He crossed to the couch and started to lean forward, but Megan jumped up to give him the hug he clearly was offering. “Good night, Sam. Sleep well. We’ll see you in the morning.”

  Justin rose as well and embraced his grandfather. “Gute Nacht, Opa.”

  Once Sam was upstairs, Megan and Justin exchanged a heated look. He scooted closer and put his arms around her. She collapsed into his chest. “Damn, but all of a sudden, I’m exhausted.”

  “We all are.” He lifted her chin and cupped her face. His kiss warmed her, but they both knew nothing else was going to happen tonight. She sipped her drink, and Justin set his empty glass on the end table.

  “You know what?” she said. “I might be tired, but my brain is going nuts. Between Rose being sick, trying to start a new business, and these bones in the yard, I know I’m not going to sleep.”

  “You have something in mind?” Justin’s tone was suggestive, yet hesitant. Sam’s room wasn’t that far away from either of theirs.

  “I was thinking a trip through Google might be interesting. See if we can track down Olivia.”

  “You’re kidding, right? She disappeared what, over thirty years ago? Nobody knows for sure where she went, other than to Georgia, and unless she was unbelievably stupid, she’d have changed her name.”

  “Yeah, maybe. But they didn’t have Google thirty years ago.”

  “All the more reason there won’t be anything to find. Not without some fancy databases. Like the cops have.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “Are you saying it’s not even worth a try?”

  He sighed. “All right, but I need another drink.”

  While Justin refilled his glass, Megan set up her laptop on the dining room table. He returned and scooted a chair closer to hers. Once her laptop had booted, she opened Google. With an exaggerated flexing of her fingers above the keyboard, she tilted back and eyed Justin. “Here goes nothing.”

  And nothing was about all she got. What hits Google did return didn’t have anything to do with their Olivia Easterbrook or Mapleton.

  “I’ll bet she
took her maiden name. Any idea what that was?” Justin said.

  She raised her eyebrows. “How should I know?”

  “Try searching for Fred, then. Maybe someone will have archived a newspaper article or something from the time.”

  Megan typed Fred’s name into the search field. After clicking on a few of the returned hits, she huffed out a breath. “You were right. This was stupid. We’d likely have more luck asking the newspaper office directly. Maybe they have stuff on microfiche.”

  “Wait,” Justin said. He pointed at the screen. “Isn’t that him?”

  Megan adjusted the angle of the screen. A much younger man, but one who could have been Fred Easterbrook, smiled for the camera. Behind him, a buck hung suspended by its hind legs from some kind of a hoist. Behind that, four more men. She squinted at the caption. “Yes, it’s him. Some hunting contest. He got the biggest buck. A six-by-five. I’ll bet we saw him on Fred’s wall.”

  Justin pointed to a male figure in hunting camouflage in the background. “Who’s that? Why do I think I’ve seen him before?” The figure was one of a group of four, and they were too small and blurry for Megan to recognize. All wore the same gear, caps on their heads shadowing their faces. The only difference was that one had a full beard. She tried enlarging the image on the screen, but the loss of resolution made them all less recognizable, not more.

  “Got me,” Megan said. “Maybe Sam will know. We can ask him tomorrow.”

  Justin yawned. “I like the tomorrow part. I’m beat.”

  “I’ll be up in a bit. I agree, there’s something about the guy that looks familiar. I’m going to go print this and see if it’s any clearer.”

  “You know where to find me,” Justin said. His lingering kiss tempted. “I know how to be quiet.” He waved and crept up the stairs.

  Alone in Sam’s den, Megan thought of all the nights she’d lived here. Not once had she heard anything from Rose and Sam’s room. They probably knew how to be quiet, too. Desire conflicted with the creep factor as the picture oozed out of the printer. Holding it by the edges, moving it back and forth, she tried to place the man Justin had pointed to. She looked at the other ones, as if maybe one of them might provide the connection.