Murderers Creek (Maggie Blackthorne Book 2)

by LaVonne Griffin-Valade

  And this morning after our breakfast, Duncan had gone off to the hospital to check in on his father before opening the Feed and Tack. I ended up arriving at the office unusually early, even before Sherry Linn arrived, and that was unheard of.

  The day had started out cooler than usual, and I considered opening a window to allow some of the stagnant air to escape, but the wildfire smoke hadn’t yet dissipated. I flicked on lights, turned on my computer, opened my email inbox, and read Deb Anderson’s message. I didn’t recognize the woman’s name she’d listed, but I already knew I wasn’t looking for an elder, especially one residing in an assisted living facility. However, I knew the younger guy named in Deb’s email and wasn’t as surprised as I might’ve been days ago.

  “What’s up, Sarge?” asked Hollis, standing behind me.

  “Jesus Christ, man. You have got to make more noise when you move in behind me.”

  “But then you’d just give me crap for being too noisy. Anyway, what’s going on?”

  “Harry ID’d the blood type on the sample I brought to him from Janine’s fire lookout tower. It was human, fresh, and type AB negative.”

  “Wow, that’s rare. Is that Janine’s blood type?”

  “You’re right about it being rare, but no, Janine is O positive. I didn’t mention this to you last night, but Dr. Hilliard let me know a patient had come into emergent care to have someone attend to severe facial scratches, supposedly from barbed wire. The nurse who examined this patient was sure the wounds were caused by fingernails.”

  “And the doctor wouldn’t give you the patient’s name, correct?”

  “Not without more evidence or a court order. Hilliard did tell me the blood type was AB negative. But just between you and me, I made a call and found out there’ve been two donors of that blood type in the county.”

  “And?”

  “Just making sure you want to know, since the person I called gave out personal information without anyone’s permission, including a judge’s.”

  “Who are the two donors?”

  “Well, remember this alone proves nothing more than the fact that two people donated AB negative blood.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” he said.

  “One is an elderly woman who lives in an assisted living facility.”

  Holly was getting impatient. “And the other damn AB negative donor?”

  “Dave Shannon.”

  19

  Morning, August 19

  As soon as I said the name, I felt a charge of adrenalin. “Is it possible Dave Shannon attacked Janine?”

  “Before we go there, what do we know about the guy?” Hollis asked.

  “Not a lot, really. He’s always seemed nice enough, but kind of out of his element. Maybe not cut out for sheep ranching?”

  “How long has he owned that ranch outside Mt. Vernon?”

  “I don’t really know. He bought it before I moved back to Grant County. I did hear a rumor a while ago that he was struggling to keep his place financially afloat.”

  “So he goes and buys a fancy new pickup truck?”

  “Yeah. It’s called retail therapy.”

  “Do you remember him from when you lived here as a kid?”

  “I don’t, but he’s at least nine or ten years younger than me. Dorie would probably know if he grew up here, though.”

  Hollis sat at his desk and opened his computer. “Let’s see what LEDS might have on the guy. DMV too.”

  That reminded me. “Shannon is driving a loaner now. A red Ford F-150 four-wheel drive.” I pulled up Bratton’s most recent email. “I took those tire tread casts to Harry yesterday afternoon, along with the blood residue from the catwalk railing. Anyway, he says the tracks are from a brand-new 275/60 R20 OWL all-terrain tire.”

  “The loaner’s from the dealership here in town, right?”

  “Has to be. All-terrain tires are for use on a four-wheel-drive vehicle, right?”

  “Pretty sure. And the dealership will be able to confirm the tread specs. I can call them here in a few and ask about the tires available on their F-150s,” Hollis said.

  “I also found Janine’s phone yesterday. Got lucky and spotted it on the ground near the lookout, probably where her attacker tossed it, is my guess. Turns out, she may have taken photos of the dude as he walked up the hill toward the fire tower. Anyway, I hauled her phone to Harry’s lab, too.”

  “There’s nothing in LEDS on Dave Shannon. Nothing of note in DMV, either.”

  “A clean record, then.” I couldn’t decide if I was happy or sad about that.

  “So far, anyway.”

  “Maybe we’re looking for someone with a clean record,” I suggested. “Harry found fingerprints on the green tackle box that matched a set on Janine’s cell phone. But there’s no print match in either the western states or the FBI’s databases.”

  “Have you talked to Detective Bach about all of this?”

  “I tried to yesterday, but he wasn’t open to hearing about it unless it had some connection to J.T.’s murder. Or, I’m afraid, unless Janine dies.”

  “There’s got to be a connection to both.” Holly was emphatic.

  “So convince me,” the detective said. He had wandered in and quietly listened to our conversation.

  “Al, hello. We’re really just talking things through,” I clarified.

  “Who’s Dave Shannon?” he asked.

  “Follow me. Please.”

  Bach trailed me to the alcove, with Hollis right behind, and I walked them through the timeline I’d put together yesterday.

  “Impressive,” Al said when I finished the recitation of the timeline. “Puts events in clear order, and it lets me know you’re as fixated on Mr. Muldaur as I am on Mr. Burney.”

  “As of this morning, I’m less interested in Sugar Muldaur,” I replied.

  “How so?”

  I pointed to the comments from yesterday. “A couple of things, actually. Janine didn’t name her assailant, but she did say she knew him. To me, that says it’s not only a male, but a local.”

  “Burney’s a local, right?” Bach asked, knowing full well Cecil was a local.

  “Yep, and so is Dave Shannon.” I tapped on the large swath of chart pack paper. “He’s been driving a loaner vehicle, a new red four-by-four pickup, ever since his truck was stolen.”

  “Cecil Burney owns a red truck, too,” Hollis put in.

  “He does,” I said. “An old front-wheel-drive junker of a thing.”

  “Which goes to your point about Mr. Burney not being able to drive to the headwaters of Murderers Creek and drop off his tackle box and its load of heroin,” Al seemed to concede.

  “Yes. And if I’m right about Janine Harbaugh’s attacker parking his red truck—one with all-terrain tires made for tonnage and four-wheel-drive capacity—down a logging road a short distance from the fire lookout, then it’s unlikely to be Burney.”

  “So you’re pursuing the possibility of the woman’s attacker being this Dave Shannon person?”

  “I am.” I rapped lightly on my timeline. “The blood sample I took from the lookout tower, Harry ID’d it as AB negative, which is apparently rare. I’ve also been told a patient with that blood type arrived in urgent care yesterday with facial lacerations consistent with fingernail scratches. And this morning, we learned Shannon’s blood type is AB negative.”

  “Unless the skin under Ms. Harbaugh’s fingernails matches your guy’s DNA, all that wouldn’t hold up in court, Maggie,” Bach reasoned.

  “Yes, I know. I grew up watching Perry Mason reruns. But it’s enough to bring him in for questioning, right?”

  “I’d rather go to his home to question him, and without advance warning.”

  Apparently Al had more cunning than I’d given him credit for in the past.

  “So why would Shannon or Burney or anybody else attack Ms. Harbaugh?” the detective asked.

  I hadn’t thought about motive. Always a mistake. “The assailant thought she was a thre
at of some kind?”

  “What kind of threat?” Bach asked, backing me further into the proverbial corner.

  “I just remembered. When I contacted Dave Shannon to tell him about the fate of his stolen truck, I let him know Janine had heard about the theft on her ham radio. That she’d spotted his vehicle from her fire lookout as Cruise and Porter drove it all over Aldrich Mountain.”

  Al appeared to be more interested. “When did you let him know that?”

  “Last Friday, August fourteenth. The day after I found Sergeant Lake’s body.”

  “And Ms. Harbaugh’s fall occurred two days ago, on Monday, the seventeenth. Why would Shannon wait three days to attack her?”

  “I don’t know why he might’ve waited or why he might’ve attacked her, Al.”

  Hollis, who’d been quiet throughout my back-and-forth with the detective, broke in. “Maybe something else happened, something that prompted him to go after Janine?”

  I took the bait. “Trooper Vaughn found the green tackle box loaded with black tar heroin the day before she was attacked. That kind of something else?”

  “Could be,” Holly said.

  Al rubbed the back of his neck. “And is there even any whispery gossip about Shannon buying, selling, trading narcotics?”

  “Not that I’ve heard,” I admitted.

  Hollis shrugged. “No, but if he’s having financial troubles, maybe he decided to diversify.”

  I glanced at the timeline again. “I have to be in Bend by three o’clock. I have an appointment with Internal Affairs.”

  “What’s that about?” Hollis asked.

  I avoided catching Bach’s eye. “I believe OSP brass is humoring J.T.’s fiancée.”

  “Ah. I’ll check in with the Ford dealership right away, and while you’re out today, I’ll see what I can find on Shannon’s finances.”

  “And would you mind contacting the Colorado officials regarding Levi Hadley’s claim that Sugar Muldaur lost his teaching job there?”

  Hollis pointed at the timeline. “Your notes say Crag, but with a question mark.”

  “That’s what I remembered Hadley saying. We were having a rather heated discussion, and I didn’t write it down at the time.”

  “I’ll bet it’s the town of Craig,” Al inserted. “I’ve got lots of relatives there. It’s known in some circles as the most conservative jurisdiction in Colorado.”

  No doubt an LDS fortress.

  “And Maggie,” Bach continued. “I plan on interviewing Cecil Burney. You’ve mentioned he’s a bit of a barnacle, so to make him feel a little more comfortable, I’ll take Hollis along.”

  That made me laugh. “Al, barnacle? You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

  Holly joined in. “Just so you know, Burney’s not one of my fans. He already hates the police, but I’m pretty sure he thinks Black cops should be declared unconstitutional.”

  The detective smiled. “This should be quite entertaining, then.”

  While the three of us were huddled in the alcove going over my timeline and making our plans for the day, the rest of the crew had arrived. Sherry Linn had already made a pot of her coffee and heated water for tea. Taylor and Vaughn were at their desks discussing today’s poacher hotline reports when Detective Bach, Hollis, and I exited the alcove and gathered at the front counter.

  Sherry Linn had done up her hair in a French twist, which meant her large earrings and matching necklace were on full display. I envied slightly her ability to work for law enforcement without having to wear some version of the same outfit every day. Officers on duty always had to be in uniform unless we were testifying in court, and even then, we were expected to wear suitable—meaning stodgy and conservative—attire. Certainly not anything frilly, sparkly, or colorful.

  Hollis grabbed a mug, filled it with coffee, and returned to his desk. I poured hot water into my personalized cup and threw in a bag of the ginger tea Sherry Linn had turned me on to a couple of days ago.

  “Would you like some tea, Detective Bach?” she asked.

  “No, thanks. I brought along my thermos,” he said. “Maggie, where should I set up my laptop?”

  “I’m afraid we’re low on workspace these days.”

  “You’re welcome to mine.” Mark Taylor had emerged from our crowded pod of desks. “Doug and I are set to travel to Austin Junction this morning. Someone’s reported a poacher near there.”

  “Guess I haven’t met Doug before. Detective Al Bach, Homicide.”

  They shook hands.

  “Doug Vaughn, Fish and Wildlife.”

  “I didn’t realize you were able to fill your second game warden position, Maggie. You should’ve asked for a bigger office, too.”

  “One ask at a time, Al.”

  “Maybe I can grease the skids a little,” he offered.

  Once the niceties were out of the way and Taylor and Vaughn had taken their leave, Bach set up his laptop at one of the temporary empty spots. I remained at the front counter, sipping my tea.

  “How’s your morning going?” I asked Sherry Linn.

  “Better than yesterday. All that smoke,” she answered.

  “I have to travel to Bend today. I’m leaving around eleven.”

  “Bend’s a nice town.”

  “Yeah, but I’m afraid this isn’t a pleasure trip.”

  Sherry Linn made herself a cup of tea. “Hollis is in charge while you’re gone?”

  “Technically, I suppose, but you can always try my phone or radio me.”

  “How are you feeling today?” she asked, no doubt curious about the results of the pregnancy test she had passed along to me.

  “I’m also glad it’s not smoky outside.” I still hadn’t told Duncan I was pregnant, and it was bad enough that Holly had managed to worm the news out of me last night. I didn’t plan to confide in her just yet.

  Hollis was on the phone when I sat at my desk and logged in to the report I’d started last evening. I sipped my tea, now lukewarm and less appealing, clarified a couple of facts in the report, and added the information regarding the blood residue from the catwalk railing, including the fact it was AB negative.

  “That was the Ford dealership,” Hollis said after hanging up.

  “So I gathered.”

  “The tread cast you made is the precise size of tire on two Ford F-150 Lariats they have in stock, although one, Race Red in color, has been out on loan. It was returned this morning, and the guy I spoke with told me he’d be willing to expedite its cleanup if I was interested in dropping by for a test drive. I told him I’d let him know.”

  “You didn’t tell him you were a cop?”

  “I didn’t see the need.”

  “Let’s get over there.”

  “Maggie,” Bach broke in. “You can’t miss that appointment with Trooper Abbott.”

  “I know that, Al. It’s not even ten o’clock. There’s time to run to the dealership and check out the vehicle.”

  “Hollis, Maggie’s taking her rig in case she has to head to Bend from the dealership, and I’ll ride with you.”

  “Let’s go before the guy washes away possible evidence,” I said and scrambled to the front door.

  It turned out that Robert Cole, father of the boy I’d warned not to sleep on the picnic table at the park in Canyon City, was the sales rep Hollis had spoken to over the phone. I was pretty sure that Bob—as he was called these days, judging by his name tag—was also not a big fan of the police. With that in mind, I made sure to let Al set the tone of our inquiry.

  “Mr. Cole, I’m Detective Bach, Oregon State Police. You spoke to Trooper Jones here over the phone about a vehicle that was returned to your dealership this morning, a Ford F-150, red in color.”

  “If you say so,” Bob answered stupidly.

  “Well, did you, or did you not?” Al asked.

  Bob passed all of us a look. “I talked to somebody named Hollis Jones, but he didn’t say he was a cop.”

  “Well, he prob
ably should have made that clear. But that’s beside the point at the moment. Please show us to the vehicle in question.”

  Bob rolled his fat pink tongue over his bottom lip. “It’s around back.”

  He led us behind the building to where the red truck was parked. It was filthy. I barely recognized it as the one Shannon drove into the parking lot at Chester’s Market last Saturday just as I was pulling out.

  “That’s it,” Bob said, pointing.

  I could see how difficult it would have been for Janine to get any read on the plate. It was basically an advertisement for the dealership, not a state-issued vehicle license number.

  “Like I told the other cop,” Cole continued. “It was out as a loaner paid for by the guy’s insurance. He bought another pickup to replace the one that got stole and wrecked. It was shipped here from Portland. Anyway, he came by early this morning to get it. Pissed me off the dude didn’t bother to take his loaner through a carwash first, though.”

  “What’s this guy’s name?” I asked.

  “Pretty sure you already know or you wouldn’t be here,” Bob answered.

  “Humor me.”

  “Dave Shannon.”

  I prodded further. “Is the color of his new truck also brown? Caribou, I think the color’s called.”

  “He upgraded to one of next year’s models, stayed with the brown tone, though. Color’s called Lead Foot. Stupid name, you ask me.”

  “You say he upgraded?”

  “Went from an XLT to the King Ranch model.”

  “How much more did he have to shell out to get the King Ranch?” I asked.

  Bob swallowed hard. “I probably should just shut up.”

  “Well, I can stand here and look it all up on my phone, or you can tell me,” I said.

  “About twenty K,” Bob spat out.

  I smiled. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Yes, Mr. Cole. We appreciate your time,” Al said.

  Bob nodded and hobbled off. I hadn’t noticed before, but he walked with a god-awful limp.

  “What’s up with that question about the color Shannon chose for his trucks?” Hollis asked.