“Coffee?” Duncan asked from his deck chair, startling me out of my little reverie.
“Sure.”
“I’ll be right back.”
I checked the time. I needed to get a move on. I stood to leave as Duncan returned with our coffees.
“Sit with me awhile,” he said.
I sat back down, took a sip of my coffee, and instantly felt searing heartburn.
“You seem like you’re feeling better this morning,” he suggested.
True, I wasn’t feeling as horrid and undone as yesterday, but that was not a discussion I planned to have with him. “Much better. Sky’s pretty, isn’t it?”
“Just like most mornings we sit out here. Reminds me, when are you giving Dorie notice and moving in for good?”
“I already gave notice last Saturday, kind of. And she’s thinking of selling the whole place.”
“Whoa, I’m surprised.”
“Me too.” I took another tiny sip of coffee. “I think I’ll stop by Juniper Pies today and pick up some dessert for tonight.”
“That sounds great.”
I thought it sounded ghastly, but I was doing it for him, not me.
“What else is up today?” he asked.
“Checking in on Janine, and Detective Bach is driving back over from Bend.”
“I sure hope Janine makes it.”
I nodded in agreement and suddenly remembered the red truck she’d called about in the first place. “Say, do you know any locals who own a red pickup?”
“There’s got to be quite a few, I imagine. Let’s see, Ed Blocker from Prairie City came in the Feed and Tack last week; he was driving a red Tacoma. The Ballard Ranch has a couple of Ram crew cab pickups so their hired men can pick up supplies, that kind of thing. I think they’re red, too. And Dave Shannon has that loaner he’s using.”
I’d forgotten I’d passed Dave driving a red pickup on Saturday just as I was leaving Chester’s Market. There was also Cecil Burney’s old red beater. In her text, Janine had said the make of the red pickup racing around the forest was definitely a Ford. Dave’s and Cecil’s rigs were both that make. Given that our county was likely populated with a multitude of red Ford trucks, those facts alone didn’t mean much.
“If I think of anyone else, I’ll let you know,” Duncan offered. “Why’re you interested in red pickup trucks, anyway?”
I stood and kissed his forehead. “I need to hop in the shower.”
“All right, don’t answer my question, then,” he said. “But can you sit your tush here in my lap for a second?”
“You bet.” I sat, and we held each other.
“I love you, Dun,” I said after a time.
“I know.”
“Now, don’t let that go to your head,” I teased and toddled off to the shower, coffee in hand. Once I was in the bathroom, I poured the java down the sink drain and rinsed the mug.
Sherry Linn was alone in the office when I arrived. I hung my cap on its hook and set my pack on the front counter, where she sat listening to voicemails left on the main number. I waited for her to finish forwarding calls.
“Good morning,” she said after hanging up the phone. “You look a little perkier today.”
“You’d be calling the undertaker if I looked any less perky than I did yesterday.”
She laughed politely and played with the bangles she wore on one wrist. I wanted to ask her how she had guessed I was pregnant, and perhaps I would have if I had bothered to share that news with Duncan.
“Maggie, I shouldn’t pry, but…”
Sherry Linn was going to ask me anyway. And I would lie.
She continued, “I’ve noticed, well, Hollis has seemed pretty down in the last few days. Did something happen?”
Of course she had noticed. “Sometimes—no, often—life sucks. We need to be thinking only good thoughts.”
She nodded and gave me one of the man’s fake salutes. “Will do, Sarge.”
Hollis and Taylor entered the office just then. I could’ve sworn both men were hungover, but Mark Taylor was a teetotaler, and Hollis wasn’t much of a drinker.
“You two look about as energetic as I felt yesterday,” I goaded.
“Hank,” Hollis explained.
“Lots of kid sports this weekend and last night. Soccer. Baseball. Soccer some more,” Taylor croaked.
“Have some of my fresh coffee,” Sherry Linn suggested. “That’ll get your engine running.”
“Good idea,” Holly said, and walked toward the alcove where the coffee pot was stashed.
“Could I talk to you a minute, Maggie?” Taylor asked.
“Sure, follow me,” I said, lifting my pack from the counter and carrying it to my desk. I sat down and glanced up at Taylor. “What’s up, Mark?”
Taylor’s face reddened. “I hear you and Duncan got engaged.”
“That’s right. No date set or anything.”
“Ellie and I would like to have you guys over for dinner sometime in the next few weeks.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t expected an invitation to supper. He’d never offered before. “Thanks. I’ll check with Duncan and get back to you.”
Relieved, Taylor nodded and trundled toward his desk a few feet from mine. Hollis, carrying a mug of hot coffee, joined us in our huddle of desks and sat at his across from mine.
“Ah,” Holly muttered. “Her coffee always hits the spot. Something about how it’s brewed or roasted or…whatever.”
I opened up the incident report I’d begun filling out last evening as Sherry Linn patched in a call from Dr. Hilliard, the hospital director.
“Sergeant Blackthorne speaking.”
“Morning, Sergeant. Miss Harbaugh is awake. And she’s asked to speak to you.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes. And thank you for calling me right away.”
“Hurry, Sergeant. I don’t know how much longer…”
No, she can’t die.
He cleared his throat. “I don’t know how much longer she’ll remain conscious.”
“On my way.”
16
Morning, August 18
Today’s candy striper was a disheveled young guy who reeked of something sickly-sweet. It reminded me of the sorghum molasses my mother had substituted for pancake syrup between paydays. The odor didn’t do much for the oppressive queasiness I already had going on.
Dr. Hilliard had already let today’s candy striper know I was to be escorted to his office right away, so I followed the boy down the rather dingy hallway where I was left just outside Hilliard’s open door.
“Good morning, Sergeant,” the doctor said and scratched the back of his ear. He stood. “I need to warn you that Ms. Harbaugh slips in and out of consciousness. Also, the attending physician, Dr. Owens, is not happy I informed you his patient was awake. I reminded him Ms. Harbaugh had asked for you, not that that appeased him any.”
“Can you take me to see her now?”
“Yes, but you should also know Dr. Owens will be in the room.”
I nodded. “Let’s go.”
When we arrived in her room, even I could see Janine’s situation was dire. She was barely hanging on.
“Dr. Owens,” Hilliard intoned. “This is State Police Sergeant Blackthorne.”
Owens acknowledged my presence. “No more than five minutes. We’re preparing her for life flight helicopter transport to Bend.”
“I understand,” I said.
“And she may be incoherent.”
I walked to her bedside and whispered in her ear. “I’m here, Janine.”
“Maggie,” she murmured.
“You asked me to come.”
“He…choked me…pushed me off…I…”
“Do you know who he is?”
Janine struggled to answer. Her eyes shut, fluttered open. Twice. “Yes, name’s…name’s…can’t…” she slurred, trailed off. After a time, she cried, “My phone…”
“Who hurt you, sweetheart?” I hovered above her, w
aiting for an answer.
But an answer was not forthcoming.
“She’s unconscious again, Sergeant,” Dr. Owens cautioned me. “And the helicopter has arrived.”
“I appreciate you allowing me to ask her a few questions.”
Owens looked over at Dr. Hilliard. “I don’t think I had a choice.”
“I appreciate it nonetheless,” I responded and followed Hilliard from the room.
Sitting in the hospital parking lot, I mulled over the past five days. Almost none of it was good, and now it might include a second murder. I heard the life flight helicopter pull away from the hospital roof and took that to mean Janine was still among the living
My phone buzzed just as I turned the ignition. It was Detective Bach, calling from the road, I assumed.
“Morning, Al.”
“I’m on my way, Maggie, but I probably won’t be there until mid-afternoon or so. Anyway, I wanted to give you a heads-up. The IAD trooper will be contacting you sometime today.”
Christ on a crutch. Could this day get any suckier? “What was the name again?”
“Steve Abbott.”
“Coming here, you say?”
“No. A preliminary phone call to set up a time to meet,” Bach clarified.
“Will I have to go to Bend for the meeting?”
“Yes. That’s how this works.”
Oh, to get me out of my comfort zone, no doubt.
“All right,” I responded. “I’ll see you this afternoon. We have a lot to talk about.”
I pulled out of the hospital parking lot, and to avoid fixating on Trooper Steve Abbott, I let my mind wander. What was it Levi Hadley said yesterday before he took off? Muldaur’s husband died under suspicious circumstances and left Sugar with a nice little nest egg. Maybe I should call the Colorado town that Hadley mentioned. Craggy, was that it? Might make sense, all those mountains. Or maybe it was just Crag? Damn, I should’ve paid more attention. Too fixated on my wrath, I guess.
But more importantly, who had choked Janine and pushed her off the catwalk surrounding the top floor of her lookout tower? A man, and she indicated she knew him, or knew who he was at least. Most likely a local, then. And what did she mean when she said, My phone? I checked my watch: a little after ten. I turned around in the station parking lot and headed west, back toward Janine’s fire lookout.
I saw no reason to rush. Bach wouldn’t arrive for another three hours, and perhaps I’d miss Trooper Abbott’s call.
My phone buzzed. “Holly?”
“Yeah. Maggie, I’m sorry. I need to take the rest of the day off.”
I couldn’t remember the man ever taking a sick day, so he was due.
“Feeling under the weather?” I asked.
“I’m…something,” he answered. “We should talk soon. Friend to friend.”
Shit. I’d stepped in it. It was Lil who was under the weather, of course.
“Okay. Whenever you want to have that talk, I’ll be there,” I promised. “In the meantime, would you let Sherry Linn know I’m heading back to the fire tower on Aldrich Mountain? Also, Janine’s been life flighted to Bend.”
“Damn.”
“She was able to tell me some guy choked her—which we had already surmised—before pushing her off the lookout. And she said she knew who it was but lost consciousness before putting a name to it. She also mentioned her phone. I’m going back to see if I can find it. Not sure it will tell us anything, but it’s worth a try, I decided.”
“Good luck finding the phone,” he said.
“Holly, I forgot to tell you what I found after you left the fire lookout. Fresh tire tracks and boot prints down a logging road a short distance from the tower property.”
“You’re sure they were fresh?”
“Sure as I can be. I made casts and hope to get those to Harry today. Maybe Janine’s phone too.”
“Sounds good. And I’ll be back in the office tomorrow,” Hollis said.
“Bach is on his way here right now, so take as much time off as you need.”
“What I need is to be back in the office tomorrow. What I want is for things to be normal.”
I had never known Holly to be so down. “Maybe we can have our friend-to-friend talk tomorrow, then.”
I parked at the fire lookout parking lot and walked up the hill to the spot where I’d found Janine sprawled on the ground at the base of the tower. Just beyond was a two-foot hedgerow of basalt rocks and petrified wood stacked to form what I took to be a snow fence just south of the wooden structure. It reminded me of the flat, sharp-edged tabletop mesas prominent throughout the John Day Valley, but in miniature.
Standing at the snow fence, I surveyed the small valley just beyond. An object lay on the yellow grass several yards below and shone in the late morning sun. With no bars showing on my phone, I couldn’t simply make a call. But it had to be Janine’s cell phone, likely thrown there by her attacker. I stepped over the fence and descended slowly, pulling latex gloves from my pocket and putting them on as I paced toward it. When I reached it, I saw the phone’s face was slightly cracked but still functional.
Wireless service at the top of Aldrich Mountain being shitty or nonexistent, Janine usually used the lookout’s landline or her ham radio to communicate with the outside world. It was possible she had tried to reach me on her landline while I was driving out here yesterday. She might’ve tried her cell phone too, but given our radio frequency difference, her ham radio wouldn’t have gotten through to me. Bottom line, any attempts to contact me while I was on the road had dropped into the ether.
I decided to take a stab at figuring out the passcode to her phone. I had a hunch it had something to do with the route to the lookout. The first thing that came to mind was 212150. But that combination of numerals got me nowhere. Next I tried reversing that same set of numbers, which also failed. I knew there were only so many attempts I could make before being locked out altogether, so I committed myself to trying one last time, held my breath, and thumbed 215021. That did the trick.
I noted the last time Janine had used her cell phone was to text me—eleven thirty-five yesterday morning—when she wrote to tell me the red truck was coming her way. After trying to call me more than once, she must’ve suspected I was out of range and wouldn’t see the message right away, but sent it just the same.
I scrolled through her cache of photos. She had taken multiple out-of-focus shots of some guy climbing the hill toward her, wearing what appeared to be a brown long-sleeve T-shirt, blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a dark cap with some kind of insignia embossed on the front.
I hurried to my Tahoe, pulled an evidence bag from my pack, and placed the phone in the bag. After moving out of the parking lot, I hightailed it toward the southern entrance of Forest Road 21. My plan was to get Janine’s phone to Harry Bratton in Silvies. Along with that, I’d be dropping off the slide with the possible blood sample and the tire tread and boot print casts, which I’d secured inside the cargo hold of my police vehicle the day before.
First sign of available service along 21, I called Harry to make certain he was going to be around this afternoon.
“Bratton here,” he answered.
“It’s Maggie Blackthorne. I’ve got a blood sample and those casts I sent you photos of yesterday. I’m also bringing along a damaged cell phone. I’d like you to check it for prints and maybe see what we can do about some blurry photos of a possible suspect.”
“A possible suspect in Sergeant Lake’s murder?”
“I’m not sure about that, but definitely a possible suspect in another incident.”
“I’ll be here all day.”
“See you in forty-five minutes or so.”
When I arrived at Harry’s ranch, the wind had picked up, tossing the leaves of his giant Lombardy poplars rhythmically and casting dimpled shadows over his driveway. He was working in his lab when I pulled up and cut the engine. He opened the front door and waved me inside. I gathered the evidence bags an
d stepped to the modular.
Harry directed me to his large metal table. “Put the bags down next to the tackle box.”
I did as instructed. “How soon can you check the prints on the phone?”
“Right now, assuming there’s only one set.”
“I think there are two. At least I hope so.”
He cocked his head. “I get the sense you want me to check the prints on the phone before tackling the casts.”
“You’re the expert here,” I said. “But the phone belongs to the Aldrich Mountain fire lookout volunteer who was shoved off the tower up there yesterday.”
“Janine Harbaugh?”
I nodded. “I talked to her briefly this morning at Blue Mountain Hospital before she was life flighted to Bend. It was a struggle for her to speak, but she appeared concerned about her phone. I drove to the lookout after that and found it. The thing had obviously been thrown from somewhere, and I don’t think it was Janine who threw it.”
“You’re sure it’s hers?”
“Positive. And I suspect the tire tread and the boot prints are connected to whoever pushed her off the tower and tossed away her phone.”
“Why would they just throw it somewhere? Why not take it with them?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they thought Janine was dead and stupidly figured no one would be looking for her phone. Maybe when they threw it, they thought they managed to destroy it or didn’t consider there might be other ways to retrieve the data.”
“Janine is a tough old gal,” Harry inserted.
“She is, and I don’t think she mentioned the phone because she wanted to make a call. I think she wanted me to see those photos.”
“About that, I’m not sure I can be helpful.”
“Like I said, the pictures are blurry as hell, but I noted the time on her camera, and she began taking those shots at eleven thirty-eight yesterday afternoon.”
Murderers Creek (Maggie Blackthorne Book 2) Page 15
