by Lyz Kelley
Old people seemed a little harsh, but fit from his niece’s perspective. Time had disappeared so quickly. He again studied the top of her head.
“Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes I wish I could step into a closet and disappear into another world.”
Her head whipped his way, and her gaze finally, fully connected. “You’ve read them?” Her question came out more as an amazed statement than a query.
“Yep. I’ve read every one in the series. I bet Grandma has my old set in the attic somewhere. They were her favorites, too.”
The spark in her eye filled him with gratification because he could relate to wanting to step into another world, a created world, a world without the pressure to be something other than what he could manage. The rebelliousness in his niece’s eyes also reminded him of Mara’s determination. Mara was resolved to make the best life possible, and he believed she possessed the faith she could master whatever she set out to achieve.
He’d felt that way once.
Somehow his youthful boldness had dissipated over the years.
His father glared at him from the other end of the table. “Let’s say grace.”
Joey placed his hands in his niece’s and sister’s, but he continued to process the day’s events. Bumping into Mara had been an unexpected bonus. He pondered how Mara could be so optimistic after all she’d been through. The last six years of police work had ground away his idealistic edges, making room for skepticism to take hold.
Life experience had proven that working harder had nothing to do with a positive outcome. Cases went unsolved. Violent incidents increased. Bad things happened to good people—like Sam.
His niece and sister squeezed, then released his hands when the prayer ended.
And keep this family safe. Let me make it through this week. Oh, and please keep me from locking my father in handcuffs and showing him what his leather belt felt like.
Amen.
Chapter Four
“Good morning,” Joey greeted the freckled-faced redhead sitting behind the sheriff department’s reception counter. She didn’t bother looking up, her thumbs too busy moving forty miles an hour across her smartphone’s keypad, most likely texting another teen who had no idea how to have an ordinary conversation.
When Joey cleared his throat, she unglued her attention from her phone, annoyance clearly the cause of her squinty-eyed stare.
“I’m here to see someone in charge of the Gaccione homicide,” he said drumming his fingers on the counter.
Before the teenager could respond, a jovial, “Joey Catchy-Monkey,” came from the man rounding the corner. The teen’s cell quickly disappeared into a pocket. “It’s Ernie. Ernie Barker. We’ve been expecting you.”
I bet you have. Better me than my dad, right?
The man continued forward, his hand outstretched. Joey accepted the deputy’s overly enthusiastic handshake.
“Ernie. Nice seeing you again.” Joey quickly released his hand because shaking it was as unpleasant as squeezing an overripe banana.
If he remembered correctly, Barker was a year older, but always hung out with kids a year or two younger. Growing up, he’d lived with his dad and grandmother, although his long-haul-trucker father was never home. Ernie had been the guy who liked reading comic books, gawking at girls, playing sports, mostly football, only because his dad demanded he play the manly game. Odd he wound up a deputy. The man’s intense vibe gave the impression Ernie did more ass-kissing than working, which lit up Joey’s caution sign.
“Is there someone who’d be willing to fill me in on my brother’s investigation?”
“Sure. Sure. Not a problem. There’s a break room just down the hall.”
He followed the deputy down a carpeted hallway plastered with award placards and framed photos of people in uniforms and then into a small room, while working hard to keep his embittered emotions in check. Three round tables, a coffee bar, a standard-sized refrigerator and a couple uniformed deputies filled the space.
“I’ll be right back,” Barker explained, “I need to get the case file.”
You can do this. Don’t think of Sam. It’s just another case file. Just another set of data. Just another crime to be solved.
Joey took a seat while the deputy made a quick detour. The smell of overcooked coffee and the conversations of other department staff engaged in local town gossip wafted around the cold and unwelcoming room. Since jobs were scarce, Joey figured he’d recognize a few people, but the faces were as unfamiliar as a three-dollar bill.
Ernie returned and dropped a file on the table before taking a seat across from Joey. He crossed his arms over his light gray button-down shirt, which looked like it had been washed and then slept in. His unkempt appearance spoke of Ernie’s apathy. No starch or iron had come anywhere close to the fabric. The boyhood athlete had morphed into an overweight football dad engaged in lifting too many Coors on the weekends. Joey speculated the deputy could hit a trashcan at twenty paces with an aluminum can better than he could hit a target with his sidearm.
“So what do we have?” Joey asked, the patience he’d sworn to exhibit already beginning to slip.
“We’ve put the evidence together, but I’m warning you, we don’t have much. Basically, Deputy Sanders found Sam next to his car at 16:52, out on Sleeping Bear Trail, with a .223 caliber rifle shot to his chest. The coroner said he died from the wound. That’s pretty much what we have.”
That’s it? The lack of data quickly diminished any assurances the sheriff’s department had a tight control over the case. Joey shifted, took a long deep breath, and leaned in to open the investigation file. “Did you look at the dash cam video from Sam’s car?”
The flicker of the deputy’s eyes and sudden movement of facial muscles couldn’t be good. “All we have are the photos from the scene. The city’s budget has been mighty tight, and some of the repairs on the patrol cars haven’t been completed due to lack of funds.”
“Okay.” Stay calm. Don’t react. “Did he fire his weapon?”
“Don’t think so. His gun was still in his holster when we found him. Dispatch said Sam called in to say he noticed one of the logging gates had been opened. No one had been issued a permit lately, so he went to check it out. The dispatcher received a non-verbal distress call seventeen minutes later.”
Don’t think so? Whether he discharged a weapon or not, required a simple yes or no answer.
“So, if I’m understanding correctly, there is no video, just these photographs.” Joey flipped through the papers in the file. “And from the looks of it, a basic search was conducted, but the results are not enclosed. Did you canvas the area for additional clues, like footprints, tire marks, or shell casings?”
“The scene was pretty straightforward. Besides, the sun had almost set by the time we got there. Like I said, we’re short-staffed with a lot going on. That’s why the sheriff was out patrolling in the first place.”
You’re short on something, all right. And training, protocol and common sense are at the top of the list. An uneasy tension pinched his neck nerves and rolled down his spine. “And no one went back the next morning?”
“No need. Besides, we couldn’t. Overnight, some kid got separated from his family. We got the call to help search because the weather channel forecasted a foot of snow.”
Snow wasn’t a valid reason for not completing a thorough investigation. Ever. Especially not when the sheriff was murdered. Barker apparently believed his lack of action justified.
Every hair on Joey’s forearms shivered with fury. His dad’s tirade about incompetence seemed to have merit.
“I have some crime scene software on my computer,” Joey said. “Do you mind if I enter this data, see if I can come up with something to help?”
“You can do that?” Barker’s eyes reminded him of a startled owl, round and big. “Must be nice working in a big city with a large budget.”
Joey’s jaw clenched to the point his teeth ached. “I can run the simu
lation, but the quality of the output can only be based on how many data points are entered. Are the coroner or lab reports back yet?”
“They should be here somewhere.” Barker flipped the file around and rummaged through the pages. “Doesn’t look like the information’s in the file.”
“When you find the reports, would you mind if I take a look?” He managed to don a pleasant mask even though he wanted to strangle the guy for his shoddy work.
His brother had been one of the department’s own. Had, in fact, been the boss. Joey had expected to encounter an intense energy and expediency around finding the shooter. What he saw made him sick.
“We’ll find the guy who shot him,” Barker said. “Don’t you worry. It’s just a matter of time.”
No, you won’t. You won’t find a damn thing. Not with this staggering lack of evidence. The fake-cheerful determination in the deputy’s tone generated a bellyful of fervor. Who was Barker trying to kid? Determination didn’t bring people to justice. The department had not done a thorough investigation in the first forty-eight-hour window. Critical evidence was easily erased. Weather elements. Critters. Even perpetrators could carry off evidence.
Joey didn’t like this guy. Not in high school, and not now. Ernie reminded him of a fruit fly, always flying around, clinging to things. He scanned the break room, a total contrast to his office in Seattle. No one looked in much of a hurry. A few people looked his way and then quickly averted their eyes. Maybe because they didn’t know what to say. Or because they didn’t care. Or because they did a crap job and knew it.
Standing around chattering like a flock of geese didn’t get the job done. Short-handed, my ass. His thoughts drifted to his brother’s home. “I’m not seeing the paperwork here indicating a search of Sam’s home.”
“That’s because there wasn’t a search.”
“Really? That’s interesting, because I stayed in his place last night and from the looks of things his home was searched. From the tracks in the area, someone recently came poking around the outside of his house, I’d say in the last couple of days. There were fresh tracks this morning.” A suffocating feeling started in Joey’s chest and moved to his throat, threatening his air supply and his tenuous hold on his temper. “Considering the time I got to Sam’s and the snowfall patterns, I suspect the new tracks were made sometime between eleven last night and five this morning. I checked the entry and exit points. Whoever visited was on foot.”
“You do know Sleeping Bear Trail runs behind Sam’s home.”
Joey’s breath stalled. “Good to know. I hadn’t realized his place was that close.”
“Several acres behind the house bumped up against the logging road.”
His mind reran the video of the morning’s events.
Standing at Sam’s kitchen sink, looking out at the snow falling in clumps from the evergreens and contemplating his dad’s words, Joey had finally taken a more detached, critical look at his brother’s place. The interior of the house, framed in log beams, included an open room for both kitchen and living room, with two bedrooms, a full and a partial bathroom, and a laundry room, all on a single floor. Sam’s entire life sat within those log walls and hardwood floors.
While Joey scanned the room, he had noticed more and more irregularities, while the uneasy feeling intensified.
It seemed trouble had followed his brother home, but for the life of him, Joey couldn’t figure out what they might be searching for.
He had poked through the contents of a copy paper box full of his brother’s things sitting on the kitchen table. Keys, a wallet, individually wrapped Life Savers, gym clothes, a water bottle, a fresh uniform…then he hit gold at the bottom. His brother’s cell phone. Waving his thumb over the glass surface of the smartphone, he studied the number pad, considered possible combinations, and pressed in four digits—Sam’s high school locker combination—the phone blinked to life.
Things never changed. You always bragged about being untouchable. Probably the reason you wound up with a bullet in your chest, eh, Bro?
The muscles in his jaw ticked while he returned his attention to the arid break room and once again swallowed his ire enough to address Barker in a reasonable tone. “You might want to dust his house for prints. Someone’s been looking for something, and I’m not sure, but I think his computer is missing. Has anyone been reviewing his old case files to see if there are any clues there?”
The blank look made him want to throttle the guy.
“We, ah…we’ve been short-staffed for a while now.”
Short of staff. Short of common sense. Short of a lot of things. Seems like there’s a theme here.
“Do you mind if I take a look at the files? I might be able to find a new thread.”
“Not at all.” Ernie lit up like a kid who’d just been offered candy. “In fact, we were hoping you might be interested. We downloaded six months’ worth of his emails yesterday, just in case you wanted to look at those as well.”
Ernie left and returned moments later with a two-foot stack of files.
Joey groaned inwardly and picked up the first file.
“I’ll ask the receptionist to make a fresh pot of coffee.” Barker’s smug tone as much as said, poor bastard, going to be here awhile.
Joey cringed, doubting the redhead had mastered the art of coffee making, or much of anything else for that matter. She certainly hadn’t figured out how to be a receptionist. He opened the case file with the most recent date. A break-in. The next fell into the break-in category as well. Joey scanned the map plastered to the bulletin board behind him. Both cases led to a hunting lodge on the outer edge of town.
When the deputy returned from somewhere with a mug of brew, Joey glanced at the coffee maker in the break room, shrugged and then pushed the smaller stack of files in the deputy’s direction. “Can you tell me more about these robbery cases? There have been six break-ins on the ridge in the past seven months.”
“Just kids going up to the ridge to get drunk and hang out.”
“It’s winter and below freezing most nights. Seems odd it would be kids. Any arrests?”
“Naw. You know how it is. The kids are long gone before the incident is reported.”
Kids? He’d gone with friends plenty of times into the woods to camp and escape the general doldrums of Elkridge, but not once did he ever have the balls to break into someone’s property. Quite a few dads in the area worked the mines, were fire jumpers or loggers. There wasn’t a father within fifty square miles who would tolerate vandalism. Not unless the town had significantly changed in ten years, which he was beginning to suspect might be the case. “Anything missing?”
“Nope, nothing. Burned half a cord of firewood, used the gas generator and left trash laying around. That’s about it.”
Firewood? Odd. Most old hunting lodges had days, if not weeks, worth of wood stacked for use. An overnighter wouldn’t use a stack of pine. Ernie hadn’t clued in to that, and Joey didn’t feel like enlightening the guy. Not yet, anyhow.
“Did you have someone check for prints, collect the trash for leads as to who might be breaking in?”
Being questioned about standard protocols made Ernie’s face tighten and cloud over. “Like I said, just kids.” His tightened jaw could have cracked open a few nuts.
“Right. Kids. Do you mind if I borrow these? I can return them on Thursday after the funeral.”
“Nope, no can do. Files need to stay here, but I can get you a password, and you can look at the information online.”
Online? Wow, that’s progressive. “That will work.”
He had to swallow twice to get the sour taste of bitterness down.
The department could afford to get the files indexed and scanned but couldn’t manage to buy or fix protective equipment for the deputies. Great. Just fucking great.
Good thing Ernie had left the room, because Joey wanted to punch something, and the deputy was starting to look mighty handy.
Five seconds
later, the Elkridge mayor walked in the door, and the rest of the personnel in the break room decided to act busy.
Out of habit, Joey stood. “Mayor Maxwell.”
“Sit. Sit. No need to stand.” The mayor gave him the signal to take a seat. “Good to see you, Joey. Been a while.”
Ben Maxwell qualified as an Elkridge fixture, just like the war plaques hanging on the courthouse walls. He’d been Mayor for so long, no one bothered to run against him. The small man, rounded on all corners, had a winning personality and could talk a squirrel out of its last nut.
“Yes, sir. Ten years.” Joey sat back down.
“Is that right? I hear you’ve been living in Seattle and working as a detective. That’s a big promotion for such a short period of time.”
“Yes, sir. I’m lucky to be working with some of the finest in the city.”
The tickly sense, the one cautioning him a bushwhack might be imminent, made Joey a bit cautious. “Word travels fast,” he said, not wanting to confirm or deny anything else until he could figure out where the conversation might be heading. He didn’t like to answer personal questions. Exposed too much. Almost as much as when Billy Covington stole his clothes in eleventh grade, forcing him to walk home in nothing but a towel.
“Are you going to stay for a while? Visit family?”
“Can’t. The job calls. I’ve only got a few days before I head back. Something seems to be on your mind, Mayor. What’s this impromptu visit about?”
“Just being friendly, that’s all.”
Joey took a deep breath. Even he wasn’t dumb enough to think the mayor’s questions were just friendly. The leads on his brother’s shooting had grown so stagnant they smelled like sewage water.
Joey leaned in a bit, taking a bold risk. “You sure you’re not here to ask my help in finding Sam’s killer?”
“Now, I always did think you were a smart boy.”
The pressure thumping at Joey’s temples doubled. “Yep. Pretty good at reading between the lines.”
